Via Luton
by Fredrica
Summary: Ch 1-5 1st 4 chpters & epilogue of the fanfic Via Luton, now published, wherein Darcy's proposal is immeasurably worse than JA's original. Ch 6 onwards, NEW THREAD, Ruth's story, in which Darcy's chėre amie, Genette, returns to Yorkshire to turn over a new leaf and encounters the sad Colonel Brandon.
1. VL: Ch 1

**NEWS_ I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton r_eleased in trade paperback 5/9/16. See details below.**

**To celebrate the release of the hard copy of Via Luton, I am giving away a hardcopy and Kindle version of my next book, _Time's Up, _which should be released before Christmas, to the first person to solve the acrostic at the back of Via Luton. Please send your entries in by the review pages for Via Luton on fanfiction, and don't forget you must be logged in so that I can PM you to claim your prize.**

**CONTENTS**

**Ch 1-4 first 4 chapters of Via Luton - the original story**

**Ch 5 epilogue of Via Luton - was chapter 71. Only here on fanfiction.**

**Ch 6- Ruth's story - work in progress**

**Via Luton was published for the Kindle under the title "I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton" on 9th Feb, 2016. A trade paperback was released on the 5th Sept, 2016 for sale on Amazon in the US and Europe. Readers from other countries can purchase it through Createspace. I have also enrolled it in the Matchbook program; so if you buy the paperback you can purchase the Kindle version as well for only a little extra. For my Australian readers, I'm working on getting it printed here but that's going to take a little longer. Thanks to my amazing cover artist who did such a wonderful job producing the original cover inspired by the photo of Nina Dobrev in her crinoline. It looks even better in hardcopy than on my iPad. **

**As is common practice, I have retained the first few chapters of Via Luton as a stub on fanfiction (chapters 1-4). You can, of course, read a little bit more for free by downloading the sample from Amazon, as per their usual policy for books published on the Kindle. In addition, I did not include the epilogue in the Kindle version, which was originally published on fanfiction as chapter 71, as the story finished neatly at the end of chapter 70. It is included here as chapter 5. That way if I ever write a sequel to VL I can conveniently nuke the epilogue online. Anyway, I managed to amuse one Australian with the epilogue, (I'm talking about you _mdg99_), so for the moment, it remains.**

**However, as a latecomer to fanfiction myself, I know it's frustrating to come across a potentially interesting story after it's been published only to find the withered stalk remaining. So I decided to publish an outtake from VL here once I took the main story down, so you've got something complete to read: not the original flower but at least a complete bud. The outtake starts at chapter 6.**

**As a supplement to**** the outtake I have collected a set of "illustrations" on Pinterest on "Via Luton updates" board. The pins are in reverse order because Pinterest dictates it must be that way: most recent pins go first. Therefore I cannot put it in the correct order until I am finished.**

**The original 4 Via Luton boards remain on Pinterest in forward order as "Via Luton I-IV" with pictures illustrating the original 71 chapters in the order they appear in the story. This forms a kind of weird synopsis of the story which you might wish to view to help you decide if with you wish to continue. It also is a pictorial index of sorts. I have also used it as an easy reference for some of the more obscure things in the story: more fun than footnotes :)**

**_Fred_**

* * *

**_Via Luton_ Chapter 1 **

"Mr Bennet, Mr Bennet, good news! Netherfield Park is let at last!"

Mr Bennet looked up from his newspaper as his wife hurried in. She had just returned from a trip to Meryton with her younger daughters.

He got up to retreat to the library, casting an apologetic look at his elder daughters who sat together over their stitchery in the sunny window seat.

"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.

"_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? How can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

She turned to her elder daughters.

"Now Jane and Lizzy you must go to your Aunt Philips in Luton and buy yourself some new things to impress Mr Bingley!"

Lizzy and Jane had been invited to spend a week in Luton with their Aunt Phillips during her recent visit. She had married a Meryton attorney, who had recently inherited a much larger establishment in Luton. She had spent a week at Longbourn, lauding her new metropolis. With a population of five thousand, Luton was far larger than the market town of Meryton, and was well known for its hats. Aunt Phillips had arrived with the most amazing straw bonnet as a gift for their mother, and upon leaving had invited her two elder nieces to join her for a shopping holiday at their convenience. Lizzy and Jane's youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia, were _not_ happy.

With an exchange of letters it was settled.

The morning of their departure for Luton was cloudy.

"I believe it's going to rain," said Mr Bennet as he surveyed the heavens.

"Nonsense," said Mrs Bennet. "It will clear as soon as the sun gets a little higher in the sky."

The trunk having already been loaded, the ladies kissed their parents, climbed into the carriage, and waved a cheery goodbye. They had only gone two miles past Meryton when, with a heartrending crash, they found themselves tumbling over each other. They landed with a jolt as the carriage came to rest on its side.

"Oh dear!" cried Jane. "I believe the wheel is broken!"

Righting herself, Lizzy stooped in the cramped space, and after jiggling the handle, successfully opened the door upwards, allowing her to stand and poke her head out. John the coachman had managed to jump free and was trying to grab the horses' heads.

"Are they injured, John?" asked Lizzy when he finally got them in hand.

"Not badly, Ma'am. I'll have a better look once I've got 'em free. Are you and Miss Jane okay?"

"Yes John, we are both well," said Lizzy looking for a convenient foothold. She hoisted herself onto her elbows and then her palms, scrambled on top of the carriage and, gathering her skirts around her, jumped off onto the ground. She then replaced John at the horses' heads while he carefully freed them from the tangled traces.

"Looks like Nelly strained her hock, Ma'am," said John inspecting the damage.

It was at this point that Lizzy noted that Jane had not followed her out of the carriage and she went back to lend her a hand. Climbing back onto the body she peered in through the door.

"Jane, are you alright?"

"No, Lizzy I've hurt my ankle."

"Oh dear! Is it broken?"

"Possibly just a sprain," said Jane as she finished winding her handkerchief round her foot and tied it. But upon attempting to stand she found she could put no weight on it.

Meanwhile, John was surveying the damage to the carriage. "The back axle has split Miss Eliza. I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere today, or for the next week I'd wager. I'll have to go back for the gig. You two wait here with the carriage, it shouldn't take me more than an hour."

Then turning to Lizzy he asked, "Do you think we should try to get Miss Jane out before I go?"

Lizzy looked up at the sky which seemed in imminent danger of a cloudburst. "Perhaps she's better off where she is at the moment. I may have to climb back inside myself."

John nodded, then lead Napoleon to a convenient milestone to help him mount: no easy feat on a carthorse with no saddle. Mr Bennet had sardonically named the large horse after the Little General's defeat and exile to Elba. Nonetheless John managed to mount tolerably well, if inelegantly. Nelly was grazing nearby. She would not be going far with her injured hock.

Shortly after John departed cross country, it began to sprinkle. Lizzy managed to unstrap their trunk and wrestle it open. She removed their dressing gowns, and had begun to drape them over the carriage windows for shelter, when she glanced towards Netherfield and noticed the smoke issuing from the chimney.

"Jane, we are very close to Netherfield. The servants must already be present. I shall walk over and ask for help. Two of us can carry you back to the house and we can shelter there more comfortably until John returns."

"Oh Lizzy, we have not been introduced to the new tenant. It would not do to be imposing upon them!" cried Jane.

"Nonsense, the family are not due for another fortnight, it is likely just Mr and Mrs Fletcher getting the place ready for habitation. I shall be right back."

As Lizzy walked up the drive, she realised the fire had been lit in the south wing, which housed the master's apartments, rather than the east wing, which housed the kitchens; so she walked round to the French doors that opened from the library to the terrace.

On peering inside she was surprised to see, not Mr Fletcher, but two gentlemen leaning on the mantelpiece before a roaring fire. Before she could even rap on the glass, both gentleman had turned towards her, and one of them strode to open the door.

"Good day!" he said with a merry smile on his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Oh dear!" said Lizzy. "Are you the new tenants? I had hoped to find Mr Fletcher."

"Mr Fletcher has gone into town with his wife to fetch provisions. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Indeed," said Lizzy, "I'm so sorry to importune you, but my carriage has had an accident in front of your gates! My sister and I were hoping to shelter here until my coachman returns with the gig."

"Of course, you must do so!" said the gentleman. "May I introduce myself? I'm Charles Bingley, at your service," and he gave a deep bow.

Lizzy curtsied. "I am Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn."

"And your sister?" asked Mr Bingley peering around her.

"My sister Jane is still in the carriage. She is slightly injured."

"Then we must make haste! Darcy, we have a damsel to rescue!"

At this point, the other gentleman stepped forward from the mantel.

"Allow me to introduce my friend," said Bingley, "Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Mr Darcy was taller and darker than his friend, quite imposing really. As Lizzy looked at his face, she was struck by his grim expression. Unlike his companion, he didn't look friendly at all. He gave a shallow bow.

"Well, lead the way, Miss Bennet," said Mr Bingley, "It looks like it might start to pour any minute."

Elizabeth hurriedly led the way back down the drive, with the two gentlemen easily keeping pace with their long strides.

"A carriage accident by the front gates," murmured Darcy in his friend's ear, "A likely tale!"

"You are way too cynical, Darcy," murmured Bingley in reply.

However once the high road was gained, the broken carriage was testament to Miss Elizabeth's story.

Elizabeth had almost climbed on top of the carriage once more when Mr Bingley vaulted onto it and hauled open the door.

"Jane," cried Elizabeth, "Mr Bingley has come to help you!"

Jane blushed deep red. Standing over her was the handsomest man she had ever seen. Indeed if he had not been wearing top boots and a waistcoat she might have mistaken him for an angel.

"Miss Bennet, are you badly injured?"

Jane blushed again. "It is my ankle sir. I cannot stand unassisted, and certainly cannot climb out of this carriage."

"Would you allow me to assist you?"

Jane nodded mutely.

Bingley lowered himself into the carriage and after cautiously clasping Jane in his arms managed to raise her to the carriage side. Elizabeth arranged Jane's skirts and helped her to the edge of the carriage, while Mr Bingley pulled himself up and vaulted to the ground.

Grasping Jane once more in his arms, Bingley clasped her to his chest and proceeded to walk off in the direction of Netherfield.

"You can't carry her like that!" protested Darcy. "You'll do yourself an injury!"

"I'm perfectly fine," said Bingley blithely continuing towards the house. Indeed Jane had somehow managed to mould herself around him so as to lessen the weight on his arms.

Elizabeth gathered the damp dressing gowns and stuffed them into the top of the trunk. She had no sooner closed the lid than the heavens opened up.

Elizabeth looked at Darcy's midnight black coat of superfine and brilliantly polished topboots. He was a tall and well proportioned gentleman, who certainly looked very strong, but his clothes proclaimed that he never carried anything out of necessity. For some reason this made her very angry.

"Mr Darcy," she said rather boldly. "Would you mind taking the other end of this trunk?"

By the scowl on his face Mr Darcy clearly _did_ mind. Nonetheless he picked up his end and they trudged back to the house.


	2. VL: Ch 2

On arriving back at the Netherfield library, Bingley tenderly deposited his precious load into an armchair, placing a footstool under her injured leg.

"Oh dear," he apologised. "the Holland cover is quite dusty. I should have taken it off before setting you down!"

"I'm glad you did not sir, because I'm soaked through, and it is easier to clean my dress than your chair."

Bingley eyed her appreciatively. She was indeed soaked through. He blushed and turned away.

Jane crossed her arms across her chest.

At this awkward moment Darcy and Elizabeth provided a welcome distraction by arriving at the door with the trunk.

After depositing it on the floor just inside the door, Elizabeth ran to Jane.

"Is your ankle hurting terribly Jane?" she asked.

"It throbs Lizzy. I think it may be swelling."

Lizzy carefully untied the handkerchief. As she removed Jane's shoe, her sister gave a sigh of relief. The ankle was indeed much larger than its mate.

"Oh dear, I think it should be elevated more," said Lizzy looking around the room. "Could we use another chair?" she enquired of Bingley.

"Of course," said Bingley, pulling another into service.

"The swelling is quite bad," said Lizzy. "Perhaps it is broken?"

"May I?" asked Bingley.

"Are you a physician sir?" asked Lizzy becoming interested.

Fortunately Bingley was not insulted. "Ah no," he replied, "but I played a lot of sport at Eton and Oxford."

He felt both Jane's feet carefully. Aside from the swelling he could feel nothing grossly amiss.

"I cannot feel aught awry," said Bingley, "but there are many small bones in the foot."

"I believe I have some arnica," said Lizzy, opening the trunk and beginning to unpack it.

Darcy was well aware of the impropriety of watching her unpack her trunk, but he found it was the only interesting thing happening in the room. His eye was caught by a copy of Plato's _Republic_ and a travelling chess set she placed on the floor. Following her hands to her trunk, he watched as a very interesting nightgown and a pair of stays were pushed to one side.

She retrieved a large drawstring reticule, placed it on the floor, and expanded the neck to reveal its contents, which consisted of some jars and bottles, and a piece of bark.

She selected one of the jars and began to smooth some ointment onto Jane's foot. After finishing this operation, she fetched a shawl from the trunk and hid her sister's naked feet beneath it.

She then turned to Mr Bingley again. "Forgive me sir, in my concern for my sister, I did not introduce her properly the first time. This is my older sister, Miss Jane Bennet."

"Your servant, Miss Bennet," said Bingley reaching out for her hand and bowing over it. He did not relinquish it immediately, instead planting a light kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it.

Darcy was duly introduced and an awkward silence reigned.

"I gather your coachman has gone to seek help?" asked Mr Bingley.

"Indeed Longbourn is not far," said Lizzy. "We expect him back within the hour."

Bingley glanced at the trunk. "Given that you have a change of clothes, it might be wise to change from your wet dresses. I'm afraid this is the only habitable room. Perhaps Darcy and I could step into the hall for a moment?"

Lizzy looked at Jane who gave an imperceptible nod. "Thank you sir, if you could draw the curtains before you go, it would be much appreciated."

This was done and the gentlemen exited to the hall, closing the door behind them.

No candles were lit in the hall and the only illumination was provided by a fan light at the end of the corridor. As the gentlemen's eyes adjusted to the darkness, the ladies' voices drifted from the library.

"Lean forward Jane, I cannot reach the bottom of your stays... Oh dear, you are wet right down to your chemise! I suppose it was because Mr Bingley was carrying you the way he was. It really would have been better if he had slung you over his shoulder, at least that way only your bottom would be wet!" There was some giggling.

Outside Bingley bit his fist to prevent himself from laughing. He looked up at his friend who, scowling disapprovingly, stuck his hand into the back of his Bingley's cravat and dragged him off down the hall.

"There is no harm in listening," Bingley protested in a whisper, "it is not as if I was looking through the keyhole!"

"You could not have done so even if you wished it: the key was still in the lock on the other side," replied Darcy.

"Ha!" yelled Bingley triumphantly, "you thought of it too!"

"Certainly not!" said Darcy flushing deeply. "And since when have you been an expert in foot injuries?"

Bingley grinned.

After a short silence Darcy continued, "You should have let me help you carry her. She could've sat upright if we'd made a seat of our arms."

"No way!" scoffed Bingley, "Dibs!"

"Hold your horses Bingley! We have only just met them!"

"I believe Miss Jane Bennet is one of the prettiest girls I've ever met! She smells divine and felt like heaven."

"Bingley, they are only the daughters of a local squire," said Darcy as he shifted uncomfortably in his wet clothes. "If you had studied the map Mr Morris showed you, you would have noticed that Longbourn is a small estate to the southwest of Meryton. You can have no serious design on them: their portions are undoubtedly small. I know you are too much the gentleman to trifle with them in anyway."

Bingley made a face as Darcy wriggled his toes in his boots. _At least, _Darcy thought, _my stockings seem still to be dry_. He shrugged out of his wet tailcoat. Fortunately, his shirt was only damp. He wished he'd had the presence of mind to draw on his greatcoat before heading outside.

"Bingley, let me help you out of your tailcoat. It will not do to stand about in it wet."

Darcy performed this office for Bingley, and the gentlemen were standing there in their damp shirtsleeves when Miss Elizabeth opened the door and bid them come back inside.

She was arranging the ladies' wet dresses over the backs of some Hepplewhite chairs when Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley re-entered.

Jane looked at the gentlemen askance. "Surely Mr Bingley you should change from your wet clothes also?"

"I'm afraid our clothes are still at The Red Lion, Miss Bennet, although our valets should arrive with them this afternoon. We were really only intending to stay for a few days to inspect Netherfield before moving in at Michaelmas. But Mrs Fletcher assures us she can make us more comfortable here."

Lizzy could well imagine this would be so. Although The Red Lion was the best hostelry that Meryton boasted, it was too close to London to be a major coaching stop, and its accommodations were unlikely to suit the tastes of a fastidious gentleman.

"Let me at least arrange your coats before the fire," offered Lizzy, spying another chair in a corner.

"It would be poor recompense for your heroism Mr Bingley," said Miss Bennet, "if you were to catch your death from your wet clothes. Lizzy, surely we have an extra shawl or two in our trunk?"

"Oh, Miss Bennet," smiled Bingley. "Men are not so delicate as females. Remember, we are made of frogs and snails and puppy dogs' tails."

"Speak for yourself, Bingley," said Darcy. "My grandfather died after catching a chill when trout fishing."

Bingley hardly thought this was in the same category, but it did not seem polite to demur.

After surveying the contents of the trunk, Lizzy held out the two dressing gowns.

"I'm afraid these are all I can offer."

The gowns were actually voluminous cloaks: one powder blue and the other pastel pink.

Bingley quickly snabbled the blue one. Darcy scowled at him.

"The blue goes better with my fair hair," smiled Bingley. "The pink one will suit your dark looks admirably!"

Lizzy laughed. "Indeed you have correctly described their respective owners."

Mr Bingley was now doubly gratified in his choice. He wound the gown around his shoulders like a shawl and could indeed smell Miss Bennet's perfume on it.

Darcy reluctantly put the pink gown around his shoulders. It did take the chill from the air.

Shortly after, a knock was heard and Mrs Fletcher entered.

"Ah, Mrs Fletcher you're back from town! As you see, we have some unexpected guests."

Mrs Fletcher curtsied. "Indeed sir," she said taking in her employer's strange attire without a blink. "I saw the Bennet carriage by the front gate. I hope no one is hurt."

"Miss Bennet has hurt her foot, but we hope it is not grievous. Would it be too much to ask for a cup of tea?"

"The fire is not yet lit in the kitchen sir, but I'll see what I can do."

After retrieving some coals from the fireplace in a scuttle, she retreated.

"I hope your accident has not interrupted your plans too greatly, Miss Bennet?" said Bingley. "We have a chaise and four at the Red Lion and expect it to arrive with our valets sometime this afternoon." He looked significantly at Darcy. "It is completely at your service."

Darcy's cheek twitched. In fact the chaise and four was his own.

"Thank you sir," said Miss Bennet. "We were on our way to Luton to visit our aunt and uncle, but our trip will have to be abandoned. Our father will no doubt arrive soon in the gig and decide what is best."

"It will be a squash in the gig Jane, and your foot would be best elevated on the trip home," suggested Elisabeth.

"Indeed," said Bingley, "so you must avail yourself of my offer!"

"You are too kind, sir," murmured Jane.

They lapsed into silence and Mr Darcy's eyes returned again to the volume of Plato and the chess set which still lay on the floor.

"Are you Greeks bearing gifts?" asked Mr Darcy with a hint of a smile.

Miss Elizabeth was not sure how to take this. "Are you implying that we gained admittance to your house by subterfuge, Mr Darcy?" she said boldly.

Mr Darcy blushed hotly. "I beg your pardon Miss Bennet, that was not my intention." _Or was it? _Sometimes the thoughts he sought to hide floated unbidden to his mouth. "I merely wondered if the volume of Plato and the chess set were gifts for your uncle? But my wits seem to have abandoned me. Forgive me for being too forward."

Miss Elizabeth was highly amused by a picture of her uncle, the attorney, reading Plato. "These things are for my own amusement sir."

"You play chess?" blurted Darcy incredulously.

"Yes, sir," said Elizabeth. "Are you perhaps interested in a game?"

Darcy nodded mutely. They sat down at a card table and Elizabeth arranged the pieces. Darcy had been a reasonably good player at Cambridge who had won most of the matches he played against his friends. He wondered how long this game would last.

They were not a dozen moves into the game before Darcy saw he was in real danger from Miss Elizabeth, and devoted more attention to the game.

For her part, Lizzy noted that Mr Darcy had definitely taken a turn for the better. Now that he was concentrating on the game, his scowl had disappeared and his countenance had become more serene. He looked rather cute in her pink dressing gown. His hair was also rather disordered. He occasionally ran his fingers through his wet locks as he pondered his next move and each time the black curls sprang up in slightly wilder disarray. It was a stark contrast to his earlier immaculate and formidable appearance.

She began to amuse herself while waiting for his next move, by thinking of a name for his hair style. It went somewhat beyond The Windswept. _Caught in a Downpour? Three Sheets to the Wind?_

As he made his next move, she noted his large hands, long tapering fingers, and heavy gold signet ring that still proclaimed the aristocrat.

Darcy was beginning to become a little distressed. He didn't feel in control of this game and despite Miss Elizabeth's lace tucker, he was distracted by her décolletage every time she leaned over the board to move a piece.

He was relieved from his misery when Mrs Fletcher re-entered bearing tea, with Mr Bennet in tow.

"Papa!" said Lizzy jumping up and running to give him a hug.

"Dear me!" said Mr Bennet surveying Jane who had been quietly discoursing with Bingley near the fireplace. "I cannot leave you two monkeys alone for a minute without you getting into mischief!" Secretly he was highly relieved that his two elder daughters were not badly injured. He had been quite appalled when he saw the carriage.

While Mr Bennet acquainted himself with the nature of his daughter's injury, Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy hastily discarded the dressing gowns. After being introduced to the gentleman and hearing of Mr Bingley's heroism, Mr Bennet sat down to share a cup of tea and welcome Mr Bingley to the neighbourhood.

During the course of this conversation Mr Bennet surreptitiously surveyed the chessboard. Mr Bennet had been a chess champion at Oxford and his elder daughters had played several thousand games with him. He realised Elizabeth was one move from check. _No, checkmate! Well, well, Mr Darcy... saved by paternal intervention!_


	3. VL: Ch 3

After tea, Mr Bennet surveyed the Netherfield library in a desultory fashion and remarked that Mr Yardley had not been a great reader.

"Which," he said, "was a pity because the Netherfield library is a much grander room than its equivalent at Longbourn. I hope you can do it justice Mr Bingley."

Darcy bit his lip.

Mr Bennet's comment started a series of reminiscences about the Yardleys, who had inhabited Netherfield for many generations before finally quitting the countryside for London almost ten years ago. Lizzy and Jane had known the Yardley children, and played at Netherfield as youngsters.

"I must admit," said Mr Bennet, "that I did not expect to see you here before Michaelmas, Mr Bingley."

"Darcy and I had hoped to do some shooting before returning to London, but after viewing the gunroom, Darcy refused to touch anything until it had been inspected by a gunsmith.

"Very wise," said Mr Bennet. "Mr Flint in Meryton will do a good job. May I address the deficiency by inviting you to come to Longbourn tomorrow morning to shoot? I have several fowling pieces in good order."

"Thank you, sir it would be greatly appreciated."

"Stay to lunch. My wife, Frances is always keen for company."

"Gladly sir, although I fear we impose too much for a first visit."

"Certainly not," replied Mr Bennet. "The boot is quite on the other foot." Then looking at Jane he added, "no pun intended."

The Bennets stayed at Netherfield until Darcy's chaise and four arrived at noon. Mr Bingley transported Jane tenderly out to the carriage and the trunk was loaded onto the back. The carriage was a handsome equipage in black with a small crest on the door. It was drawn by four spirited matched chestnuts. There were two servants on the box. They were not dressed in fancy livery as might have been expected, but instead wore dark blue coats without adornment. They did not wear wigs, instead their long hair was tied neatly at the back of their necks with a black ribbon. Taking this all in at a glance, Mr Bennet climbed in next to Lizzy, having sent John off with the gig to the wheelwright.

The ladies departed with cheery waves as they headed back to Longbourn via Meryton, where they hoped to obtain the services of the apothecary Mr Jones.

Nelly imposed upon the tenant of Netherfield slightly longer. She grazed in Netherfield's front paddock for two weeks. John the coachman appeared every day to foment her hock until she was deemed good to go.

* * *

Arriving at Longbourn, the steps to the chaise were let down and the trunk unlashed. Mr Bennet, eschewing the help of the Netherfield servants, piggybacked his daughter to the front steps: a mode of transport somewhat less elegant than being carried around by Mr Bingley. Nonetheless the short distance somewhat taxed that gentleman who deemed himself too old for such hijinks.

After being set upon the steps, Jane managed to hop the remaining distance to the parlour.

Mr Jones had not been at home in Meryton when they had called, but his wife had promised an afternoon visit.

Mrs Bennet's complaints and laments regarding the abandoned trip to Luton were loud and long lasting, but upon hearing her girls had made the acquaintance of the tenant of Netherfield and his friend, she became more reconciled to the event. By the evening, she was deeming the carriage accident a great stroke of luck.

Mr Jones arrived around two, apologising for his inability to wait upon them directly, and bringing with him another gentleman, who he introduced as the new local physician, Dr Gregory, recently graduated from Edinburgh medical school.

The gentlemen were led directly to the patient. Mr Bennet extracted himself from the library, where he had been studying Debrett's peerage, to hear Mr Jones' opinion. However, it was Dr Gregory who deigned to provide the diagnosis, gratis, as an introduction to one of the esteemed families of the neighbourhood.

"Try to keep your weight off it, and keep it bandaged until the swelling and bruising have disappeared completely. Is there a sitting room upstairs?" This was confirmed. "Then I would suggest that we carry you up there presently. Live on the upper floor and do not attempt to negotiate the stairs until you can walk without pain. If you must come down, get two footmen to carry you on a chair. If it is indeed just a bad sprain, as I expect, then it should take a week or two to heal. If it is broken, it will be longer."

Mrs Bennet invited the gentlemen to stay for afternoon tea, to meet the rest of the family. This indulgence had never been previously granted Mr Jones who was in no doubt of its origin: Dr Gregory was a handsome young man of medium height with reddish hair and pale blue eyes. As a University-trained physician he could command a much higher fee than Mr Jones, who had acquired his skills as an apothecary and surgeon through apprenticeship. It had not escaped Mrs Bennet that Dr Gregory wore no ring on his finger.

"Dr Gregory, I do not know how your arrival in Meryton could've escaped my notice until now," said Mrs Bennet.

Dr Gregory laughed. "I have only just arrived today Mrs Bennet and I've not yet found a place to sleep. I dropped my bag at the Red Lion this morning, but both their rooms were taken. I may yet find myself sleeping in the taproom tonight."

"So you have decided to set up a practice here in Meryton, Dr Gregory?" asked Mr Bennet.

"Indeed, Sir William Lucas encouraged me to set up an infirmary here. I hope to look at the shopfronts that are available for the purpose with him tomorrow."

"Meryton is only a small market town Dr Gregory. Do you think it merits its own physician?" asked Mr Bennet. "Surely you would do better in London?"

"I must admit I have a grander ambition to set up a hospital for the care and treatment of the sickly and disabled. This is a costly exercise and I cannot afford to do it in London. However Meryton is sufficiently close to London to enable relatives of patients to visit. I was fortunate to meet Sir William Lucas at St James, who offered to act as a patron for the enterprise."

Mr Bennet raised his eyebrows at this. "Well I wish you good luck then," he said as he rose to take his leave. "You must excuse me, I have urgent business in my library."

Dr Gregory was disappointed at Mr Bennet's precipitate departure when the subject of patronage had been broached, but he consoled himself with Mrs Bennet's seed cake, several more cups of tea, and the very pleasant company of his five daughters.

Indeed they were all exceptionally pretty girls. Jane, the eldest, was a beautiful blonde with a serene smile. Lizzy was next in age and beauty, with glossy chestnut tresses and glittering eyes. Lydia, the youngest, was well formed for her age and laughed merrily. Kitty and Mary were also good looking, although he had forgotten which was which.

Upon taking their leave, Mr Jones promised to return each day to bandage and salve Miss Bennet's foot. For his part, Dr Gregory promised to return in a week to view the patient, and gave an open invitation to the ladies to visit the new infirmary once its doors opened.

Over dinner Mrs Bennet lauded the presence of a physician in Meryton and an eligible gentleman at that. "I'm sure Dr Gregory could do wonders for my nerves," said Mrs Bennet.

"Feel free to consult Dr Gregory as often as you wish my dear," said Mr Bennet, "but his bills come out of your pin money. So what will it be: bonnets or nerves?"


	4. VL: Ch 4

Shortly after breakfast, Lizzy was working on the ledgers in the Longbourn library while Mr Bennet sipped port and read a book nearby.

"Well Lizzy, you may be interested to know that the chaise and four that delivered us home yesterday actually belongs to Mr Darcy, who owns a very large estate in Derbyshire."

"Really? I had thought it belonged to Mr Bingley?"

"One might have jumped to that conclusion on the basis of his offer of the conveyance, but he did in fact use the royal 'we'. You might also have noticed there was a small crest on the door."

"Yes, Papa."

"Can you remember the details of it?"

Lizzy flushed. They had been studying heraldry and here, at the first chance to use her knowledge practically, she had failed.

"I believe there were cinque-foils, perhaps three?"

"Saved by a youthful mind, eh? It is the Darcy crest. Mr Bingley's family is not listed in Debrett's."

"Well that probably explains why Mr Darcy is so haughty. Obviously people without crests are nicer," she smiled.

Their tête-à-tête was then rudely interrupted by several loud shrieks emanating from the garden, which Lizzy immediately identified as issuing from her sister Kitty.

Mr Bennet rolled his eyes. "You had better go and investigate what that is about my dear," he said returning his eyes to his book.

Mr Bennet was an odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, caprice, and indolence. After moulding his elder daughters to suit his notions of domestic harmony, he had retreated to his library and left the upbringing of his three younger daughters to his wife. As this lady became more nervous and discontented as her husband began to show the signs of old age, this duty had now largely fallen to the two eldest sisters.

Lizzy arrived in the back garden to find Lydia chasing Kitty with a large dead snake. Kitty issued more shrieks.

"Put that down Lydia," Lizzy scolded, "and act your age, not your shoe size. Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy will be here soon."

The words had no sooner issued from her mouth than two horses were seen coming through the front gate followed by a hound: the gentlemen had arrived for their shooting party. The ladies hurriedly divested themselves of the serpent.

After the visitors set out with Mr Bennet in search of sport, Kitty and Lydia escaped into the sunshine to play on the swing. Mary went off to the parlour to practice her music. Jane, who had been carried down by her sisters, sat at her embroidery while Elizabeth read aloud from the latest novel; and Mrs Bennet supervised setting of the table for the lunch which was to be served upon the gentlemen's return.

Around noon the sounds of this domestic bliss were again disrupted by Kitty's screaming.

Lizzy looked at Jane, "No doubt Lydia has retrieved that dead snake and is making more mischief."

With a sigh, Lizzy put down her book and opened the door to the garden. She had no sooner done this than Kitty burst into the room, hitting her sister on the shoulder in her hurry to enter, and thrusting her aside. She was shortly followed by Mr Bennet's goat which chased Kitty through the room into the interior of the house. The two had no sooner disappeared when a hound followed through the garden door and joined the cavalcade.

Regaining her wits, Lizzy bounded after the hound into the hallway. She arrived to find it standing outside the closed parlour door. Behind the door, more screaming and a general rumpus could be heard. She had no sooner grabbed the hound by the collar, when the parlour door was reopened by Kitty, who attempted to make an escape. Upon opening of this portal, the hound, seeing his quarry, attempted to leap forward; but was held fast by Lizzy, although her arm was nearly jerked from its socket.

It was at this point that she managed to view the devastation in the parlour, which at first glance consisted of an upturned pot plant and the vision of Mary sitting frozen on the piano stool, eyes locked with the goat that stood atop the piano. Into this tableau, the gentleman stepped into the hallway.

As Lizzy turned to survey them, the hound gave a happy bark in the direction of Mr Darcy, who viewed the scene with a look of utmost mortification on his face.

Lizzy turned to him coolly. "Mr Darcy, is this your hound?"

Mr Darcy's first thought upon encountering Miss Elizabeth was that he beheld a vision of Diana, the Huntress. But upon perceiving the martial light in her eye, he thought instead of Bellona, the goddess of war. The dog was clearly now aware that he had committed a faux pas, and licked Lizzy's hand, as if in atonement. For his part, Mr Darcy could only hope to live vicariously.

"My sincere apologies, Miss Elizabeth," said Darcy striding forward to take the hound by the collar. "He is but a year old and clearly forgot himself."

Lydia burst out laughing as she entered the parlour and surveyed the devastation. She grabbed the goat by its horns. "Lord Mary, were you playing a pastorale?" she guffawed as she pulled the goat from its perch and hauled it off towards its usual habitat in the back garden.

After general straightening, it was found that the only permanent marks of the incident were a few deep gouges on the top of the piano. After the visitors offered several more apologies, Mr Bennet silenced the issue by remarking that no doubt the piano would sound just as well despite its _fortitudes_, glancing at Lizzy to note if she'd appreciated his wordplay.

The gentlemen left after lunch, during which several well-earned compliments were directed towards Mrs Bennet, who, despite the fact that she had been unable to procure a decent piece of fish in Meryton, had managed to present a very appetising board.

Upon taking his leave, Mr Bingley expressed his wish to meet again after Michaelmas, once he had returned to Netherfield. Mrs Bennet apprised him of the upcoming assembly in Meryton and he gladly promised to attend with a larger party.

The goat incident was mulled over several times during the afternoon before being put to bed for posterity.

"Lord you should have seen the look on your face, Kitty, when the goat started chasing you!" said Lydia; "and yours too, Mary! when it was standing on top of the piano!"

Mr Bennet looked at Lydia, "And I suppose you, my dear, were the initiator of the whole incident?"

"I was only chasing Kitty with the snake. I don't know why the goat joined in, perhaps it just wanted to have some fun, but once Mr Darcy's dog started after the goat, the chase was on, tally-ho!"

"Well if Mr Darcy was in any doubt that he had the entered the countryside, I'm sure he has none now," joked Lizzy, but privately she was mortified.

Mrs Bennet refused to believe Kitty's tales of how large the snake had been, declaring that no such viper existed in England. Arriving later in the afternoon to tend Jane's foot, Mr Jones was very interested to hear the story of the snake and went off with Lydia to view the specimen. He declared it to be an Asclepian snake, an introduced species, and took it off to his rooms to pickle in a jar.

One week later the ladies were surprised by the delivery of a handsome new pianoforte directed to Miss Mary Bennet, compliments of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.


	5. VL: Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Elizabeth spent the first five years of her marriage trying to promote the practise of modern medicine in Derbyshire. She never found another collaborator like Doctor Gregory who valued her for her talents. The doctors she encountered merely saw her as a woman, a wife of their wealthy patron, and a trifler. Eventually she gave up trying to replicate her happy experience in Hertfordshire and focused on her children and Pemberley's tenants. She made numerous contributions to education and public health in Derbyshire. Her granddaughter was one of the first women to study at Edinburgh Medical School, following in the footsteps of Miss Sophie Jex-Blake.

Dr Gregory continued to build up Netherfield, turning it into a major centre for long-term, respite and palliative care in Hertfordshire. He and his wife were never blessed with any children, and on his death the hospital came under the stewardship of the three junior partners he acquired during his time there.

George Wickham became very wealthy trading rum in the early days of the British colony that would later become known as Australia. He married a rich widow and became a pillar of New South Wales society. He died in his forties from the pox. He was interred in the Devonshire Street Cemetery in Sydney, under a huge obelisk commissioned by his besotted widow. The more ribald citizens of the colony thought this was hilarious, but the more sapient thought it an appropriate monument both to George's mode of living and to his nature.

With the combined benefits of his lineage and his university education, Bingley did very well at the foundry, eventually tripling his father's fortune. After two years of marriage, he fulfilled his father's dream by purchasing a great estate just outside Sheffield. This was ably managed by his wife Jane and a steward, while Bingley focused on his business.

In his sister Caroline's fifth season, Jane convinced her husband to increase Miss Bingley's dowry to fifty thousand pounds. She subsequently married a widowed duke. The duke already had an heir, and they never had any children. She spent all of her time in the duke's London townhouse in Berkley Square, whereas her husband rarely left his country seat where he bred horses. He spent Caroline's dowry at Tattersalls, acquiring some prime breeding stock. She never bothered Mr Darcy again, as her husband was of far more consequence; nor did she speak to her de classe brother and his wife. In short, it worked out to everyone's satisfaction.

Much to Lady Catherine's disgust, and his wife's delight, Colonel Fitzwilliam had a prime Derbyshire copper bath installed in Anne's chambers at Rosings. Lady Catherine said she had never see anything so debauched. The Colonel advised her ladyship she might be more sanguine if she kept her nose out of the bridal suite.

Darcy and Lizzy had five children, and thanks to Lizzy's efforts in public health and her skill in nursing, they all lived to adulthood. Their eldest was a daughter much doted on by her father. Darcy and Lizzy were fairly sure that their elder son arose from a memorable incident where Lizzy jumped Darcy in the library when he returned from a week-long trip to Yorkshire. The conception of their younger son likely arose from a similar event after Darcy had returned from London. Upon seeing his youngest child merrily giving chase to his three older sisters at a picnic attended by the Gardiners at Pemberley, Darcy gave his wife a tender squeeze and made her blush fierily by whispering the word "billiards" in her ear.

And Darcy himself? Despite exhortations to practise, he never really changed his managing habits; or became more sociable with strangers, or even with acquaintances. But his intimates knew him as a contented and easygoing man; his tenants, as a good and fair master; and his wife, as a _great_ lover. His slightly indulged grandchildren _might_ have even confused him with Great Uncle Bingley, if they did not look so different...

FINIS

**That's all for now. I'll mark this as complete but I still have a few threads running through my head which I may post, both outtakes and after events, so continue following Via Luton if you're interested.**

**I had a lot of fun doing the Pinterest boards for Via Luton, even if they weren't hugely popular, so I think I will do them from now on. With regard to the Sweet Torment Pinterest board, I only ended up with 84 followers, so hardly a mandate. Nonetheless I will keep my promise to do the board for ST if I get 100 followers.**

**At the moment I am working on a new story, Time's up, which I will start posting this weekend. Thanks for your support.**


	6. Ruth: Ch 1

**Authors note for _Ruth's Story_ \- an "outtake" from _Via Luton_**

I had partly written this story as part of the main novel, but as many readers don't care for topics non-Darcy, I decided to retain only the bare skeleton in the original work. Here now, is the full story of what happened to Ruth. This is currently planned as a novella which I will try to publish weekly. The Pinterest pictures will be initially posted on the VLupdates board and will be in reverse order, so if you come late to the party, scroll down to Ruth Chapter 1.1 and flick backwards to catch up. Once I'm finished, I'll post them in the correct order onto a new board called VL-Ruth.

When I was writing this story, I was, of course, thinking of the wonderful portrayal of Colonel Brandon in the 1996 movie of Sense and Sensibility. Vale Alan Rickman.

Fredrica.

Update 13/3/16 Due to a lack of interest, this story is on hiatus while I focus on _The Lectrice._ I hope to return to it in the future.

**Synopsis: What happened to Ruth? Known as Genette, she was Mr Darcy's mistress at Madame Amelie's before he decided to reform his ways. Darcy belatedly became aware that she had adopted her vocation reluctantly, in distressed circumstances; and he is determined to offer her a better life in retirement. He resettles Ruth, with her former governess on one of his estates in Yorkshire, which has been leased, with an option to purchase, by a Colonel Brandon, retired from service in India. WARNING: HEA, but there is angst in this story; so if you are after fluffy, it is not for you.**

Below is an extract from chapters 20 and 28 from _I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton_ covering Ruth's backstory. Darcy visits Madame Amelie's under the pseudonym of Mr Williams.

**Chapter 20 **Sitting demurely on the settee with her black locks twisted up in a braid, Genette was perhaps the most unlikely inhabitant of Madame Amelie's house. She had started her life as Ruth, a clergyman's daughter from Yorkshire, who might have been sitting at that moment in a comfortable sitting room in the North; if not for her somewhat hasty decision to run away from home at the age of seventeen. This had been done on the day she had become betrothed to a fat gentleman of forty-odd years, who had sought her father's permission to woo her on completing mourning for his first wife. That poor lady had died shortly after delivering their fifth babe.

Wrapping her belongings in a tablecloth, Ruth had fled her family home in the middle of the night to take the Mail to London. Her original intention had been to make her living respectably as a governess or paid companion. But after many weeks at the agency she had failed to find an employer and had run to the end of her funds. A gentleman had met her as she contemplated the waters of the Thames from Blackfriars Bridge; and after listening sympathetically to her story, had taken her along to Mme Amelie's, whence he was destined.

That lady had treated Ruth with a consideration she had not expected, and after a short stint in the attics learning her trade, she had arrived, relatively unsullied, to Darcy's arms on the third floor, with the more experienced Sarah as her companion.

**Chapter 28 **On the day following his return from Hunsford, Darcy arrived at Madame Amelie's in the afternoon and spent half an hour in her office before heading upstairs.

Darcy found Sarah reading to Genette in the parlour again. He had discovered during his recent afternoon visits that Genette was teaching Richard's mistress, Sarah, to read. Sarah, who had been a milliner's apprentice before joining the brothel, had only learned her letters at a village school before being indentured.

He signalled to Genette that he wished to join her in her bedchamber.

After she closed the door, Darcy sat down on the bed.

"Would you mind pulling my boots off?" he asked.

After she complied, Darcy lay down on his back on the bed and indicated Genette should do the same. Then he grasped her hand as he stared at the ceiling.

"Genette, you told me something once that made me think your father was a clergyman."

She blushed and timidly replied, "It is true."

"Do you ever think that perhaps we should not be doing this?"

Genette's heart sank, she had been dreading this. _He is engaged._ All the worries that sometimes nagged at her, particularly when she woke in the morning, rushed to the fore.

Genette was not in love with Mr Williams. Truth be told, she was a little afraid of him. He had such hauteur. But he never turned up drunk and was not brutal, or even rough; which was more than could be said for many of the other clientele of the establishment. He had not been passionate in his lovemaking, but he was an attractive man, and he had been considerate; she had to admit she had enjoyed their encounters in a base sort of way, although she knew it was not heartfelt.

But her dread encompassed something more than losing Mr Williams as her protector: it was something that was not specific to him, but to herself. He had been her first, and thus her only; and while that remained true, she had shielded herself from the grim reality of her situation: that there would be many others. She would likely lose her place on the third floor: she was not as beautiful as other members of the Elite. She knew Madame Amelie had recommended her to Mr Williams on the basis of her youth, her gentility and her innocence. He had not seemed to mind her relative inexperience, and between his gentle instructions and Sarah's knowledge, she had managed to please him.

She steeled herself for his next words.

"I have spoken to Madame Amelie about terminating our contract."

Her stomach lurched. There, he had said it. In the silence that reigned, she was all too aware of her fast heartbeat, and she forced herself to breathe.

"Genette, you said something once that made me think you come from Yorkshire. Do you ever wish you could go back?" he asked.

"I cannot go back," she replied quietly. "I am a fallen woman."

Darcy winced. He had been responsible for her fall. He could reason that if it had not been him, it would have been someone else: but he knew those were the thoughts of a sophist.

"I want to help you. Do you wish to continue here, or do you wish to do something else...?"

What did she wish? She wished she could return to her adolescence: to sew and pick flowers all day. To the time before men took an interest in her: such a stupid, impractical wish.

"I wish I could go back to the country," she replied; "Preferably to Yorkshire, but anywhere else would do. To live in a cottage, with chickens and a garden."

"That might be possible, but you would need a companion. Does Sarah or any of the other girls have a similar wish?"

"Not that I know of."

"Is there anyone else you can think of?"

"I often wonder what happened to my governess. She had no relatives and was already fifty when she moved on from my family's home."

"Do you have a forwarding address?"

"Yes, but I do not know if it is current. I stopped writing once I ran away."

His question came too quickly and harboured a note of alarm. _"You ran away?"_

Genette blushed, realising she had divulged too much.

After gentle prodding, she revealed her history: the fat suitor; the flight on the Mail; her failure to find a respectable post.

Now Darcy _really_ felt like a scoundrel.

After further silence, he levered himself into a sitting position.

"I'll see what I can do. I'll arrange with Madame for you to stay here until I can find a solution, but I won't be visiting you any more."

He got up to pull on his boots and tailcoat.

"Goodbye," he said kissing her hand, and giving her a small smile.

He walked to the door.

"Mr Williams?" she ventured.

"Yes?"

"Congratulations."

He was confused for a moment and then looked at the floor, realising the mistaken direction of her thoughts.

"Thank you," he replied.

A trusted footman sent off in plain clothes to Yorkshire arrived back with the required information, and arrangements were made for the ladies to occupy a cottage on a small estate Darcy's father had inherited in Yorkshire. The property itself was leased by a Colonel Brandon, lately of India, who had it on an option to buy.


	7. Ruth: Ch 2

**Chapter 1 A cottage with chickens**

As the post-chaise turned into the lane, Ruth clutched her reticule and glanced at Becky, her former governess, with a tight smile. She was still not sure she had made the right decision, and could only rely on the judgement of Mr Williams, or Mr Darcy, as she now knew him - for he had arranged everything. The girls at Madame Amelie's had said she was fit for bedlam - to give up a successful career in a high class brothel and instead return to the country, to live in indigent circumstances! Madame Amelie had assured her that she could remain among The Elite if she stayed - the second son of the Earl of Haversham had expressed an interest in her; a new contract could be signed.

But Ruth had been determined to go. Her decision to join the brothel years ago had been driven by desperation - it was either that or the waters of the Thames - both paths to damnation; but at least the brothel afforded some hope of a better tomorrow. When Mr Williams had terminated her contract, he had allowed Ruth that second chance - retirement to a cottage on a property he owned in Yorkshire, with a respectable income of two hundred pounds a year. Whatever lay in front of her, Ruth's retreat to her native Yorkshire at least offered possible redemption through God's grace.

As the carriage continued between the high hedgerows, there was not much chance to view the countryside, so Ruth looked again at Becky, her former governess, who was staring out the window on the other side of the carriage. Her iron grey hair testified to the fact that she was in her late fifties. Her face, which had once been plump and merry, was gaunt; and her clothes, although neat, had clearly seen better days. Mr Darcy had found her living in distressed circumstances in lodgings near St Clements in London.

For her part, Miss Rebecca Grantham was enjoying smelling the country air again. The position she had taken in her native Lincolnshire after leaving Ruth's family in Yorkshire had not worked out - the girls had been spiteful brats who took delight in bullying her. Refusing to learn their lessons, they spent their days thinking of ways of harassing their gentle governess. The last straw had come when they had suspended a flat iron above her bedchamber door; leaving the door slightly ajar, and then climbing out the window. Becky had walked in completely unawares, and fallen in surprise when the iron struck her arm. She had broken her leg in the fall, and sustained a terrible bruise to her arm, but could only be glad the iron had not struck her head, killing her.

After her 'accident', the doctor had set her leg, and she had concealed the bruise on her arm with her shawl; but she had given her notice to Mrs Krimpett, inventing a sick relative to hide her reasons, and departing as soon as the doctor deemed her fit to travel. The girls had not shown the least remorse.

Miss Grantham had then lived for two years in a series of increasingly decrepit lodgings in London. The fifty pounds she received per year from the trust, left by her dear departed father, had seemed enough at first to live independently if she economised, but a few unexpected expenses and rising rents had soon made that increasingly difficult. Her attempts to supplement her funds doing piecework, as her aunt had done, had proved hopelessly optimistic and outdated - most work of that kind was apparently now done in manufactories.

When Mr Darcy had knocked on her door with a letter from Ruth, her favourite former charge, he had seemed almost like an angel sent from heaven. Granted, he was dressed almost entirely in black, not white, as angels should be, but expensively so; and Becky thought she detected great kindness in him. How he had found her, she could not surmise.

Mr Darcy had stood silently on the threshold while she read the letter. She could not invite him in for tea, because she did not have a companion; and the lodgings she was reduced to renting did not have a common room.

Her surprise on reading the letter was great. Ruth had been here in London all along! Had Becky but known, she might have visited her! Her former charge was departing London for Yorkshire, and requested her dear Becky to come live with her. It was like manna sent from heaven!

Mr Darcy asked politely if she required more time to consider the offer, to which she replied quickly that she was more than gratified to accept - he must excuse her; she was quite overcome to hear from her former pupil.

He arrived back the next day in a hackney; and transported Becky and her trunk to Grillon's Hotel, where she was to await Ruth's advent on the following day. After Mr Darcy left, Becky could only stare at the luxury around her. She was brought back to a happy state of reality when there was a knock at the door of her room, and a maid and footman entered to set out a delightful tea. Despite her less than fashionable clothing, Becky was treated with a civility by the staff of Grillon's which she had not been privy to since her youth as a gentleman's daughter. No doubt this was the influence of Mr Darcy, who had described her to the manager at the front desk as the aunt of a friend.

Ruth had joined her the next day. Miss Becky had been sitting in the foyer reading the Morning Post when an elegantly attired lady had crossed the threshold, and after a moment's hesitation, approached her. Becky could not believe how beautiful her charge had become, with her well-formed figure and glossy black hair. Ruth was dressed expensively in the latest fashion, but Becky noticed that her finger was bare - she was wearing neither a wedding ring nor a mourning ring.

After Ruth arranged her accommodation with the manager, they had retired to their shared room where they had partaken of Grillon's wonderful tea. Once the servants had departed, Ruth had become suddenly grave; and while Becky poured the tea, she related her history since they had last corresponded: the fat widower who had approached her father for her hand; her flight to London on the Mail; her inability to find work; and the kind stranger who had taken her to the brothel. Of her time in that establishment she would not speak, merely glossing over it to Mr Darcy's kind offer to re-establish her in Yorkshire.

Becky had been quite shocked by the tale; but for her Ruth's sake, she had done her best not to show it, grasping the girl's hand and squeezing it when she faltered in the telling. Ruth had been such a good girl, it was hard to imagine her following such a career; but, on reflection, she had always had that spark of independence - remonstrating with her younger sisters whenever they failed to apply themselves properly to their lessons. Becky had always hoped that her former pupil, who was both pretty and intelligent, had managed to make a love-match. Really, she thought it was too bad of the vicar to have forced his eldest to accept such a suitor, and could only imagine that the widowed parson had been desperate to get his four girls established. With regard to Mr Darcy, Becky surmised that he had been a client who had taken a liking to her former charge; and that slightly shocked her too - he had seemed such a nice man; she would not have guessed him given to vice.

"If you do not wish to live with me, dear Becky," said Ruth; "I will perfectly understand, and will seek a companion at the agency; but I do hope you can forgive me my sins."

"Of course, my dear. There is nothing I would like more than to return to Yorkshire with you. I can understand why you don't wish to return to your family. I agree the reverend would probably not understand; and who knows what story they might have circulated to explain your disappearance? But do you not think you should write to your father; to at least let him know you are alive?"

"I cannot think it would give him any comfort after this length of time, Becky. I am alive but disgraced. It would only cause embarrassment to my family; possibly harm my sisters' chances of establishing themselves. It is better they do not know."

Becky had reluctantly agreed. "And how are to we explain ourselves in Yorkshire?"

"If you agree, we are to be the Misses Grantham - a girl and her aunt, indigent friends of Mr Darcy's aunt. What say you?"

"You are sure you do not wish to be a widow?" asked Becky.

Ruth blushed. "It would be presumptuous of me to claim the protection of that status. You do not object to me using your name? I could be the daughter of your sister, and make up another."

"Of course, not," said Becky. "Let us be the Misses Grantham."

The post-chaise slowed, and the hedges opened up to reveal a small cottage, surrounded by roses and a picket fence.

"Oh look!" said Ruth. "It is lovely!"

The footman Mr Darcy had hired to accompany and serve them, let down the step. The two ladies had barely alighted from the vehicle when they heard a horse cantering towards them; and looking around, saw a gentleman approaching. He was a big man; solidly built, and mounted on a gleaming chestnut of some seventeen hands.

Reining in, he dismounted and swept his beaver from his head; running his gloved hand through his feathery locks to rearrange his flattened hair.

Ruth saw he was not a young man, but nor was he particularly aged. His most striking aspect was he grave countenance, which did not look unkind, but spoke more of sadness.

"Forgive me for introducing myself," he said, performing a quick bow. "I am Colonel Brandon. I lease this estate from Mr Darcy, and on his behalf, I welcome you to Clavering. I hope your journey was not too fatiguing?"

"Thank you, Colonel Brandon. I am Ruth Grantham, and this is my Aunt Rebecca. It was indeed a long journey. I did not find it so tiring - it was a nice change from London; although I dare say my aunt will be grateful to rest."

The colonel nodded in acknowledgment, and after hitching his horse to the fence, looked round as the postilion and the footman unloaded the ladies' trunks from the chaise and placed them on the ground. A maid, who had appeared from the cottage, moved to take one end of the largest, which belonged to Ruth; but the colonel shooed her away, and taking the handle himself, helped the footman carry the trunk into the house and up the stairs. He was a big man and handled his end easily. The postilion, somewhat shamed by the intervention of a gentleman; forgot his notions of demarcation, and stepped forward to help the chambermaid with the smaller trunk.

Entering the house, Ruth motioned Becky to a chair, and then waited at the base of the stairs to tip the postilion when he descended; but he steadfastly refused her money, saying that Mr Darcy had already paid him generously for his work, before departing.

Colonel Brandon descended more slowly after them.

"I placed both trunks in the hallway between the two bedchambers," he said upon reaching the base of the stairs. "I hope that is satisfactory. There should milk and cream in the kitchen; and Belinda, your maid, tells me she has made scones this morning. I generally go shooting in the mornings and will be happy to bring you a rabbit tomorrow, if I may."

"Thank you, Colonel," replied Ruth. "It is much appreciated."

Without further ado, he had gone off; and Becky and Ruth ascended the stairs to view their new accommodations. Upstairs, there were two large bedchambers that looked towards the front of the cottage, as well as two smaller ones. They were surprised to discover the beds were furbished with pretty counterpanes; which, their maid apprised them, came along with many other things, courtesy of the colonel.

"Mr Darcy sent your bank draft to cover the cost of some furnishings," explained Belinda, "but the colonel sent some from the manor house, as he does not use the half of the rooms. He thought you might like instead to buy a vehicle, but I expect he will speak of that tomorrow."

Belinda had then gone off to put the kettle on, and the two ladies entered into a happy discussion of the features of each bedchamber. Whenever Ruth commented on a merit of one, Becky declared it should be hers; until Ruth laughingly declared that she would take the room with the honeysuckle growing near the window, as she did so like flowers. Becky settled the matter by declaring that the pretty chintz of the pink counterpane in the other room was beyond comparison the _nicest_ bed covering she had ever possessed.

When they had removed their bonnets and pelisses, the trunks were dragged into the rooms of their choice, and the unpacking begun and promptly abandoned when Belinda declared afternoon tea ready.

* * *

Meanwhile, the colonel had galloped off in some agitation.

When Mr Darcy had enquired if the cottage was still vacant and requested his assistance in resettling the ladies, the colonel had done so out of the goodness of his heart. His landlord's description of these ladies had led him to believe he was aiding two older females, possibly disturbed from their former abode by an entail, and no longer able to improve their situation by marriage, either by age or unsightliness. He had definitely not been prepared to encounter one of the prettiest girls he had ever set eyes on.

He'd gone out riding in anticipation of their arrival, having been advised they would be coming from Sheffield in the afternoon. He was determined to welcome them, see they were settled into their new establishment, and possibly even invite them for dinner if they were not too fatigued. His heart had quickened when a lady with a well-formed figure and graceful carriage had stepped from the chaise; and he had chided himself for a fool as reined his horse in, a lonely bachelor who had been living apart in the country for too long. Convinced that closer inspection would reveal an aged face, and a hideous mole, he had dismounted.

The lady had turned away from him to help another out of the carriage; who, he could tell from her movements, was either aged or infirm. When the chip-straw bonnet was turned back to him to reveal a heart-shaped face framed by jet black hair, the colonel's heart skipped a beat; thinking for a moment he had been transported back in time to his youth, and his own dear cousin stood before him. In the next instant he saw that a cool pair of grey eyes regarded him, not the cornflower blue eyes he had so loved; but there was no denying the newcomer was a very pretty female. In his confusion, he had swept his hat from his head and automatically tidied his hair before dropping his hand self-consciously, deciding this was a vain thing to do.

Belinda, who had advanced herself by volunteering to come to the cottage from her position as chambermaid at the manor house, had come out to help with the luggage. She was attempting to pick up one end of the largest trunk with both hands when he shooed her away, and took the end himself in one hand, convinced it was too heavy for the girl.

The manual work had been just the distraction he needed, and when he descended the stairs afterwards, the colonel was again master of himself. After a civil exchange with Misses Grantham, he'd gone off, completely forgetting his original intention to invite the newcomers to dinner.

* * *

Although Miss Becky was tired from the journey, she was too excited to rest; and, following tea, the two ladies used what remained of the afternoon to explore the cottage and its environs with their maid.

Discovering the hencoop had been recently stocked with chickens made Ruth smile, it was just like Mr Williams, ._..no, Mr Darcy_, to attend to details. The kitchen garden had obviously gone to ruin, but she could see evidence of chives, parsley, and rosemary amongst the weeds.

Their maid had spent her first week at the cottage dusting, sweeping, and arranging the furniture sent down from the manor in readiness for their occupation; but Belinda promised to set the garden to rights over the next week, relating the colonel was happy to provide the deficit in the meantime and continue to supplement their produce with gifts from his own kitchen garden.

Ruth smiled at Becky. _Yes, she thought she could be happy here._


	8. Ruth: Ch 3

**Those of you who favorited Via Luton should have received a special offer by now. Thank you for your support.**

**The Pinterest board for Ruth is started under Via Luton updates.**

Despite the colonel's physical removal to the manor, his restless mind would not leave him alone, and when he went out shooting the next morning and bagged a rabbit to take to the cottage, it was in expectation of seeing Miss Grantham again; of ascertaining whether it was her heart-shaped face alone that reminded him of his dear departed Eliza.

As he lifted his right hand to ring the door-bell, he could feel his palm slippery from sweat on the barrel of his flintlock rifle; and not from any physical exertion - he'd kept up his fitness since selling his commission in the army; the morning's hunt had been a trifle.

The door was answered quickly by Belinda, who must have seen his approach from the kitchen window - she had flour on her apron. After she bobbed a quick curtsey, he handed her the rabbit, commanded his dog to heel, and followed Belinda inside. Setting the rifle behind the door, he surreptitiously wiped his sweaty right palm on his gaiters - the rabbit fur had taken care of the left one. He froze when he heard the soft swish of skirts that announced the presence of a lady - a stark contrast to the receding thuds of Belinda's hob-nailed boots on the bare boards; and took a deep breath before he turned to encounter Miss Grantham, for he was sure her companion could not move so quietly.

It was indeed her. With her hat removed, he could see that the curls that had peeped from the bonnet yesterday owed their existence to a curling iron, unlike his dear Eliza's riotous curls. The rest of Miss Grantham's hair was gathered into a sleek bun, though one that was quite voluminous, causing him to he briefly wonder how long her hair might be; before he pulled his mind into a more appropriate direction.

"Miss Grantham," he bowed.

"Colonel Brandon, it is good to see you again. Will you take tea?"

"I cannot, ma'am," he prevaricated; "as you see, I am dirty from the field."

A little shy, Ruth would not have pressed him; but their exchange had enabled the slower Becky to reach the vestibule, and she was not so easily deterred.

"Come now, Colonel Brandon," said Miss Becky, "we cannot accept such antisocial behaviour; Belinda has made a new batch of scones, and John can help you off with your gaiters."

John, the footman, had indeed appeared from somewhere; and after the colonel's gruff acceptance, took his hat and helped him remove his shooting jacket.

Colonel Brandon sat down in the Windsor chair in the vestibule, but waved John away while he removed his gaiters himself, allowing the footman only to wipe his boots before he entered the parlour.

Some tea things were already set out on the parlour table. The colonel had sent the second best dinner service to the cottage from the manor - he didn't entertain, so he had no need for two, and he abhorred having expensive things around that were not used. The Colonel dined in solitude at the manor using the best dinner service. But upon sitting down, he immediately saw that the tea service on the table was a much finer one in a modern style that must belong to the Granthams. It seemed a strange extravagance for a pair of indigent females, and too new to be a heirloom, causing him to think he had misjudged its quality. When Ruth went off to the kitchen to check on the state of preparations, and Miss Becky offered to crack a window - 'now the day was warming up'; he quickly checked the hallmark. His first supposition had been correct, it was Sèvres. He supposed it might have been a gift from better-off relatives, but it bothered him, seeming strangely out of place. Noticing odd little things like that had saved his life, and those of the men of his regiment, many times in India. For now, he put it in that mental basket - weird.

Ruth had returned with the teapot, followed by Belinda with a tray bearing the scones, and they sat down to take tea. Miss Becky was a skilled conversationalist, and between discussing the nearness of the village and what might be procured there, and avoiding looking at Miss Grantham, twenty minutes passed before the colonel suddenly remembered he had intended to discuss procuring a vehicle for them.

"Have you given any thought as to the type of vehicle you would like purchased, Miss Becky?" he asked the older woman.

Here, Miss Grantham intervened, and he was forced to look at her while he was addressed. He initially made the mistake of looking directly at her eyes and in examining her long lashes, before discovering he had no idea what she had said for the last minute.

"...we had thought a donkey and cart sufficient for our needs, Colonel. Are you aware of any available in the district?"

"I am not," he prevaricated, before having a happy thought; "but I have a gig that I can put at your disposal once a week."

"We would not wish to put you to any trouble," Ruth replied.

"It is no trouble," he said. "It sits in the barn most of the time, as I prefer to ride."

Ruth smiled, and the colonel noted what tiny white and even teeth she had.

"I was referring to yourself, Colonel. But thank you. I must admit to being unable to handle anything grander than a donkey cart. My father had a Tilbury, but he didn't consider females worthy to drive it," she reminisced fondly.

"Yes!" laughed Miss Becky, "for a clergyman, your father was very fond of his Tilbury!"

The ladies exchanged knowing glances - Reverend Rattray's favourite non-ecclesiastical pastime has been polishing his beloved vehicle.

The colonel was on the point of asking them to expand on this topic when a vehicle was heard pulling up outside, and motioning Ruth to stay put, Becky got up to investigate.

Ruth filled the awkward silence that threatened to prevail in Becky's absence by refilling the colonel's teacup.

Salutations in a loud female voice echoed from the vestibule and Becky appeared shortly after with two females in tow - a well-dressed lady and her companion, whom she introduced as Mrs Jessup and Miss O'Brien.

"Why, Colonel Brandon!" Mrs Jessup fluttered, "_fancy_, finding you here!"

Mrs Jessup proceeded to welcome the Miss Granthams to the county, regaled them with entertaining descriptions of the company that could be found about, and invited them to the assembly in the town hall to be held in the next fortnight.

"I am one of the patronesses, you know! The subscription balls are held quarterly, but all new-comers are free! And I can assure you that _all_ the ladies are hanging out for the next one! Aren't they, Miss O'Brien? For I have invited no less than _three_ eligible gentlemen staying at Holloway Hall who are visiting from Shropshire! You see, Colonel Brandon, you will have all the eligible females snatched from under your nose if you are not careful!"

Mrs Jessup and her companion were duly invited to sit down to tea, which they accepted with alacrity.

After a polite half-hour had elapsed Colonel Brandon got up to leave, thankful to escape Mrs Jessup's light-heart raillery. For as he was in his mid-thirties, had two thousand a year, and was passably good-looking, he was frequently the target of Mrs Jessup's matchmaking schemes.

Upon his departure, Mrs Jessup became more expansive, for she really was a jolly, good-hearted creature; but also more inquisitive, for she had instantly taken a liking to both Miss Granthams. Moreover, Ruth's beauty and her youth had stirred the Mrs Jessup's particular passion, and she had soon determined to make the youngest Miss Grantham her pet project.

Mrs Jessup was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by insinuations of her power over such a young man.

Despite her apparently silly meanderings, before tea was finished, Mrs Jessup had noted Ruth's quiet good sense, beauty, and air of fashion, and decided she was _just the thing _for Colonel Brandon, for whom she had a particular fondness.

Mrs Jessup then took herself and Miss O'Brien off, inviting the Granthams for tea at their earliest convenience, which they most gratefully accepted.


	9. Ruth: Ch 4

**OK, I have added a couple of extra sentences to the introduction in chapter 6, so hopefully that reduces any confusion. 'Ruth' is a standalone story that started as an extra thread in Via Luton, which was culled during the writing process based on feedback. However during the writing of Time's Up, some readers expressed an interest in the fate of the minor characters. If you wish me to continue with Ruth's story please read and review.**

Following lunch, a footman from the manor arrived with a basket of vegetables to compliment the rabbit and a note from Colonel Brandon, offering to take the ladies to the village tomorrow morning if it was convenient.

After a hurried discussion, the ladies agreed that if they departed early enough, they could take tea with Mrs Jessup on the way home, and Ruth quickly wrote an acceptance for the footman to carry back up to the manor. Seeking the servant out, she discovered him in the kitchen, flirting with Belinda, who was roasting the rabbit on a spit. Harry, for that was the footman's name, had at least made himself useful by turning the spit for their maid while she chopped the vegetables.

Ruth spent the rest of the afternoon weeding the garden with Belinda and their own footman, John. Becky had not been particularly happy about Ruth's participation, but had reluctantly ceased protesting when Ruth agreed to wear a pair of Becky's old kid gloves. The three of them cleared enough of the weeds to judge the former contents of the garden and left John setting to with the hoe in one corner. For her part, Becky tried to make herself useful by occasionally turning the spit in the kitchen for Belinda.

The colonel arrived in his gig around nine the next morning. With a small athletic jump, Belinda cheerfully seated herself on the backboard and arranged her basket beside her. The vehicle had a wide seat, but after helping Becky climb in on the colonel's left, Ruth couldn't help think they were very crowded as she squeezed in on the right. The colonel sat with his knees apart to fit his long legs behind the footboard such that his thigh was touching and protruding above Ruth's, and she could not help but be conscious of how firm and warm it was all the way to the village.

When they had set off along the rutted road, Ruth had immediately been all admiration for the colonel's driving technique: he handled the ribbons well and negotiated the rutted road with science. Although the Reverend Rattray had considered himself an excellent whip, Colonel Brandon put him quite in the shade.

Despite his apparent preoccupation with the poor state of the road, the colonel could not help but be aware of his proximity to Miss Grantham. His heart beat fast and his mouth became dry.

By the time they reached the crest of a hill affording a beautiful view to the horizon, he was already in need of a tankard of ale.

"Those are the ruins of Upminster Abbey," he managed to croak, pointing with his whip to a distant outcrop.

From the crest, the road to the village wound down into a picturesque valley, and after coming around a spur, it was possible to view the village and its environs as they approached.

"Indeed," said Miss Becky, "I have often wondered why Yorkshire seems to be full of ruined Abbeys. As a former governess, I suppose I should know, but I can only list all the kings back to Alfred the Great."

"I believe the Abbeys were originally established to support Norman rule in the area," replied Ruth, earning her an admiring look from her former governess and a thoughtful glance from the colonel.

"Clearly, you have not rested on your laurels since you left the schoolroom, my dear," replied Miss Becky.

"Mr Darcy loaned me a book on the early history of Norman rule," supplied Ruth, before thinking better of discussing her former lover.

"Indeed," added the colonel, "I visited Pemberley once early in my tenancy. The library is an impressive one, is it not?"

"I have not seen it," returned Ruth, slightly embarrassed she had been so gauche as to allude to the topic of Mr Darcy. "Mr Darcy and I met in London, and he merely loaned me a book after a conversation."

Ruth was relieved when Becky turned the discourse to sheep and the shoal was passed. She resolved thereafter to sit silently and enjoy the passing countryside.

The village of Alwick was no great thing, but the ladies were able to purchase all they wanted: more flour, spices and several huckaback towels. Colonel Brandon hoisted the bag of flour onto the backboard, where Belinda jumped up to sit beside it and steady it with one hand. Miss Becky took Belinda's overflowing basket on her knees, while Ruth managed to squeeze herself into an even smaller space than she had occupied on the forward trip.

Fortunately, Mrs Jessup's residence, Ambleside, was only a mile from the cross-roads, from whence it was possible to take a shortcut back to Clavering along a lane.

The colonel took the shopping basket as Ruth helped Becky climb down, placing it carefully between his boots near the footboard. After offering to return for the ladies in two hours, he was about to depart with Belinda, when Mrs Jessup appeared and forestalled his escape.

"Colonel, you must come in for tea. We are such a merry party! And you promised me faithfully the last time you absconded that you would come in the next time!"

As this was unfortunately true, the colonel was forced to relent, and with an apologetic glance at Belinda, he surrendered his vehicle to Mrs Jessup's groom.

"Excellent!" crowed Mrs Jessup, having gained her way.

As they neared the front door, the colonel heard the shrill voices of Mrs Jessup's nieces through the open window of the parlour. Belatedly, he realised the vehicle protruding from the carriage house was not Mrs Jessup's own, but the Bletchleys', and that he was about to pay dearly for his failure to take tea with Mrs Jessup on the previous occasion.

Entering the parlour, Ruth was startled by a sudden burst of hilarity from the incumbent guests who consisted of two ladies, very finely dressed in colourful silks, and three gentleman in town fashions. The ladies were introduced as Mrs Jessup's nieces. These ladies were as garrulous as their aunt but favoured their father, Mr Peter Bletchley, in intelligence. Master Peter, who was Mrs Jessup's youngest brother, had passed away before his time in a freak accident, leaving his widow to bring up his two girls. Ruth was later to discover that Master Peter had been of so mean an intelligence that despite his high position as the local squire's son, his neighbours had not even deigned him to have common sense.

The three gentlemen turned out to be the threatened visitors from Shropshire. One of them was wearing a pair of the blue glasses favoured by users of Argand lamps, despite the fact it was broad daylight. Ruth took the seat furthest from this gentleman, who was introduced as Mr Algernon Ebersley. He, however, was not deterred by this circumstance and immediately shifted his seat to a vacant position beside Ruth by the suave manoeuvre of offering Miss Becky his own chair. This move somewhat annoyed Miss Letitia Bletchley, who pouted for a few minutes upon losing one of her beaux; but when she saw Ruth did nothing to encourage him, Miss Letitia relented, smiled at her, and was once more the life of the party.

The tea time talk was of the projected ball, the theatre in London, the latest fashions and Mrs Jessup's lapdog, a pug named, incongruously, Pansy. Neither Ruth nor the colonel ventured a syllable, but their reticence went entirely unnoticed, so eager was everyone else to contribute. Becky and Miss O'Brien occasionally got a word in, edgeways, for the sake of conversation, but the bulk of the exchange was carried out by the guests and Mrs Jessup.

In no time, the teapot was empty. When Mrs Jessup immediately offered to replenish the brew, Becky volunteered to take the pot to the kitchens.

Smiling, Mrs Jessup reached for a handbell on the table, only to withdraw her hand, saying: "Perhaps, I will accept your offer after all, Miss Becky, as the maid is a new one and may merely top up the pot with hot water, whereas I prefer the leaves to be added fresh each time."

Thereupon, she hauled herself up from her chair using the table, which fortunately was a very solid one made of oak.

No sooner had their aunt left the room, then Letitia and her sister Sophia became almost raucous as the Shropshire gentleman engaged in lighthearted flirtation with them. Mr Ebersley quoted several poets, much to the sisters' appreciation. Although his verses were framed in a way that bestowed them generally upon all the ladies, when the sisters turned their attention towards the other young gentlemen, he projected speaking glances upon Ruth; letting her know that politeness only preventing him from being more direct.

The colonel endured this murder of the bard's art as best he could, being much better acquainted with the entirety of the poems in question and not just the popular verses that were being bandied about.

Mrs Jessup and Becky reappeared at least fifteen minutes later with a maid bearing a tray laden with the teapot and more scones, which must have accounted for their tardiness.

An hour later, having disposed of the second pot of tea, the Clavering party extracted themselves, thanked their hostess for her hospitality, and breathed a collective sigh of relief upon emerging into the relative quiet of the outside air.

The colonel's gig was extracted from the carriage house and Belinda magically reappeared. Ruth handed Becky in beside the colonel and had walked around the back of the gig to reclaim her place on his other side, when Mr Algernon Ebersley protested that they were _way_ too crowded, and offered Ruth a place in his phaeton as he was 'just going off in that very direction'.

Her polite attempts to decline were overridden by his insistence and Mrs Jessup's encouragements, and when his high-perch phaeton was brought round, there was nothing Ruth could do but climb gingerly onto the seat with his assistance. He jumped up athletically beside her, and with a crack of his whip they were off, careening round the drive at a hair-raising pace. Ruth dared not even lift her hand to wave goodbye to Mrs Jessup, so insecure did she feel as she clutched the edge of her seat. Her hand remained firmly gripped there for the entire journey.

Mr Algernon, for in her terror Ruth had forgotten his surname, maintained a continuous monologue for the whole trip, narrowly missed a milestone when overtaking a farmer's cart, and somehow contrived to arrive at the cottage just after the colonel, despite driving hell for leather all the way and leaving before him. Whether they had gotten lost or taken a detour Ruth was never to know. Her uppermost feeling on reaching her home was relief to have arrived in one piece. She was rather shaken, and as the dandy was still wearing his silly glasses, she decided to privately refer to him thereafter as Mr Argand and _never_ to step into his carriage again.

Mr Algernon Argand was then so bold as to demand Ruth's hand for the opening set of the ball. She demurred, stating that she was unavailable, which was a true enough statement, in its own way. He would have pressed her further, perhaps for another set, but fortunately the colonel arrived to hand her down.

If it had seemed a long way _up_ to the seat of the high-perch phaeton, then Ruth felt positively vertiginous when contemplating getting _down_. Setting her foot on the step, she felt her jelly-legs collapse beneath her, and she fell heavily against the colonel.

He caught her quite adeptly round the waist, and when her feet touched the ground she could only gasp, "Thank you!" while she focused on not embarrassing herself further by falling to the ground.

The colonel, however, seemed to have appreciated her difficulties and kept a firm hold on her elbow with his left hand while she reacquainted herself with terra firma. He touched his hat with his right hand, saying dismissively, "Good-day, Mr Ebersley."

After escorting Ruth to her door, the colonel returned to his gig and clucked to set his horse in motion.

Ruth, who had collapsed into the Windsor chair in the vestibule, distinctly heard him say "damned fool!" as he drove off.


	10. Ruth: Ch 5

**Yes, _Steeleo_, those blue glasses launched a story. I thought, at first, that someone was having fun with Photoshop. To think that they had their portraits taken wearing them. LOL**

After Ruth and Mr Ebersley had left Colonel Brandons's gig in the dust as they departed Ambleside, the colonel had spent the first few minutes of the journey back to Clavering silently cursing females who were seduced by handsome young men driving fast carriages.

However, Becky's concern for her niece, who she felt had been coerced into Mr Ebersley's carriage against her will, soon put him into a proper frame of mind. He realised that Ruth had tried to politely refuse Mr Ebersley's offer of conveyance but had yielded to force majeure when Mrs Jessup had stuck her oar in.

When his gig reached Creevey's Lane, it was obvious to the colonel that the phaeton had detoured in that direction. He could only hope that Mr Ebersley knew his way to Clavering and had not decided to abscond back to Shropshire with the beautiful Miss Grantham.

However, soon after the colonel arrived at the cottage and carried the flour into the kitchen for Belinda, he heard the pounding hooves and clatter of a carriage travelling at speed and arrived at the front door in time to see the wayward phaeton pull up.

As Miss Becky had confided that Miss Grantham was afraid of heights, Colonel Brandon immediately determined to help Ruth alight from the carriage. As the Grantham's footman appeared to have gone off somewhere, the colonel was aided in this scheme when Mr Ebersley was forced to remain in his seat to keep his team of horses steady.

As he handed Ruth down, the colonel noticed how pale she was, and saw her waver. Realising she was unsteady on her feet, he deftly grabbed her as she collapsed. When she'd fallen onto his chest he would have liked nothing more than to pick her up bodily and cradle her there forever. Instead, he had to content himself with lowering her gently to the ground, his hands lingering for a moment around her slim waist before he transferred his grip to her elbow. She wobbled slightly as she stepped forward, but he could see she'd regained her balance along with her equanimity. It was clear she hadn't enjoyed the jaunt in Mr Ebersley's carriage at all, and the colonel bid the dandy a curt good-day.

After seeing her safely inside, Colonel Brandon mounted into his gig, cursed his competition for a fool, and drove home in a daze, with Ruth's breathy "thank you" playing over and over again in his head.

He spent his afternoon wandering around his cavernous but empty house, ostensibly looking for additional items of furniture, not too grand, that would not look out of place at the cottage; and mislaying his watch and pen several times during this process.

That night, as he fell asleep, the colonel dreamed Ruth was lying in bed beside him. As he lowered his lips gently to hers, he whispered her name before kissing her tenderly. When he withdrew to gaze into her eyes, she looked at him earnestly and breathed, "thank you".

* * *

Becky, who had been busy helping Belinda pack away their groceries when Ruth had returned, arrived in the vestibule to find her former charge collapsed in the chair and looking quite pale.

"Oh, dear! I knew I should not have let that fellow take you off in that unwieldy vehicle, but I did not like to gainsay Mrs Jessup. Are you all right?"

"It did sway rather alarmingly," managed Ruth.

"Here, you just sit there, dear, and let your stomach settle, and I'll make you a nice pot of tea," soothed Becky.

The first sips of tea worked wonders on Ruth's stomach, and she closed her eyes gratefully as she continued to sip the warm brew from the beautiful Sèvres tea set that Mr Williams had insisted that she keep. Madame Amelie had purchased it at his order, so that he could take tea in Ruth's chambers when he visited; and he had given it to Ruth as a present when he dissolved their contract. She had only made a token protest. Besides her beautiful gowns, which had been chosen more to suit Mr Williams' tastes than her own, the tea set was one of her few possessions and was far more luxurious than anything her family had owned at the vicarage.

"There! Are you better now?" enquired Becky.

"Thank you, Becky."

"Well, I have been busy to some purpose, my dear," declared Becky. "While you were being mobbed by those young gentlemen, I have found out all about the colonel; and more from his own lips."

"I wasn't being mobbed, Becky, though Mr Ebersley was quite forward."

"Nonsense," said Becky. "You didn't see what I saw. His friends would have been paying their addresses to you too, but he gave them the evil eye."

Ruth had regained her equilibrium sufficiently to shake her head with a smile.

"Have you not wondered," said Becky, eager to share her story, "how such a couple as the colonel and Mrs Jessup came to be friends?"

"Not really," said Ruth. "There live within a few miles of each other and Mrs Jessup is the sort of lady who likes to insert herself into everyone's business."

"But why does the colonel tolerate her?" posed Miss Becky.

"Because he seems a nice fellow?" ventured Ruth.

"Indeed, I believe he is," agreed Miss Becky; "but Mrs Jessup's late husband served together with the colonel in the East Indies, and it was _he_ who put the colonel in the way of Clavering when he was looking for an estate. Colonel Brandon is currently only leasing Clavering, but Mr Darcy wants to sell, and the colonel may actually purchase it at the end of his lease at Michaelmas."

This gossip about the estate concurred with the scant information Ruth had gleaned from various things Mr Darcy had told her. She wondered vaguely what would happen to herself and Becky if Mr Darcy _did_ sell. But she had enough faith in him to know he would most likely resettle them elsewhere as need be; and she continued to sip her tea while Becky ploughed on.

"Colonel Jessup asked Colonel Brandon to keep an eye on his family on his deathbed. At first I wondered if he might have died in service, which would have been very romantic, though sad; but Mrs Jessup said her husband died of pneumonia after trout fishing. Well! That is by the by! Mrs Jessup says she is well able to look after herself, but she lets the charade go on, because it is actually _Colonel Brandon_ who needs looking after. She says he has led a very tragic life, and is still pining for his sweetheart who died some time ago."

Ruth steady regard rewarded this speech.

"Apparently," continued Becky, "this lady was his cousin, who was taken into their family home when she was orphaned at the age of fourteen. He was much the same age at the time and they fell hopelessly in love with each other. Well, the colonel was only the second son and had to seek his fortune, so he joined the army and went off to the East Indies when he was seventeen. But before he left, he and his cousin made an agreement to wait for each other. They wanted to get engaged, but his father wouldn't permit it, hoping his son might catch the eye of an heiress; for his cousin, while tolerably provided for by her late father, wasn't well off. Still, the two exchanged rings and promised to write to each other regularly."

"Well, there were lots of opportunities in India. The colonel was promoted quickly and was well on his way to making his fortune. But two years after he went off, his cousin unexpectedly came into a lot of money via her maternal uncle, who died without ever having married. Colonel Brandon's father, whose estate was struggling, decided that Eliza, for that was the girl's name, should marry his eldest son instead, and save the family's fortunes. The colonel wrote his father, begging him not go ahead with marriage, and offering to cede Eliza's fortune to him once he married her on his return. He knew his brother didn't have any affection for Eliza. But his father wouldn't wait, and Eliza bowed to the pressure and wed the colonel's brother."

"That is very sad," said Ruth, stirring her second cup of tea absentmindedly, while wondering if she would have had the fortitude to resist her guardian's will in such a situation. It must have been very difficult for the poor lady, to have no one to turn to in her hour of need.

"Unfortunately, it gets worse. Apparently the colonel vowed he would never return to England, for there was no reason for him to go back now his Eliza was lost to him. But five years after the wedding, he heard that Eliza had run off with another man and his brother was divorcing her. Around the same time, he had a chance to get furlough, so he came back to England to find Eliza, hoping that there was still a chance for them. But it was no good. He could find no trace of her and had no choice but to go back to India."

"But he didn't give up. Every time he got furlough, he looked again, and one day he came across her, quite by accident, when he went to help a faithful family servant who his father had turned off without a pension. Apparently, his cousin was in a very bad way with consumption, at death's door, having lived hand to mouth for some years after the last of a series of men had abandoned her. She was overjoyed to see the colonel and begged him to take care of her little daughter who she still had with her. She'd had several children, but they'd all died of various childhood ailments before any of them had reached the age of five, and this youngest child was the only one left. The colonel promised faithfully he would look after the little girl and did all he could for Eliza, but she died only two weeks later."

"That was when he decided to sell his commission. Having no wife of his own, he found a foster family for the little girl. He decided to use his prize money to buy an estate. It was then that Mrs Jessup's husband, who'd sold out a few years before, told him of Clavering. Mrs Jessup has been trying to set him up with someone nice ever since he arrived, but the colonel says he is too old and no longer has the heart to fall in love."

"Well, he wouldn't be the first bachelor to decide that," said Ruth. "It is a sad story, and Mrs Jessup should really leave the poor man alone."

"But that was before you came along, my dear," replied Becky brightly. "The colonel was asking ever so many questions about you on the way home. Very discreetly, mind, because Belinda was on the back; as if he was just politely enquiring about the both of us, but I was not fooled. He said you reminded him of someone he used to know: "A beautiful girl", he said, before realizing he'd said too much; and he rubbed his left hand on which he wears a ring, and I am sure it must be the one that Mrs Jessup spoke of, though he was wearing gloves, so I could not see."

"Becky, you know I have determined never to marry. Please don't try to promote a match. I'm ineligible and I can't tell the colonel why, so it will just result in him being hurt again. If he should say anything else, please try to divert his mind elsewhere."

Becky had looked quite crestfallen at that. While she knew Ruth's chequered history, her romantic notions had been stirred by the colonel's willingness to wed his sweetheart after she had divorced his brother. Here, surely, was a man who could tolerate Ruth's slip, especially when Becky knew her friend to be virtuous at heart. But she reluctantly agreed, being too respectful of Ruth's wishes to continue promoting the idea against her will.


	11. Ruth: Ch 6

**OK, there seems to be modest interest in Ruth's story (a total of 15 reviews for the first 5 chapters), so I'll keep posting what I've written which is 3 more chapters. Whether I continue after that or abandon the story while depend on the response.**

**To the guest who expressed concern about Ruth's fate in the original story, I was also unhappy about giving her a one-line "she lived happily ever after" wave goodbye, which was a prime motivator in beginning this story. There are some historical studies that suggest that prostitution was particularly rife during the Regency period, as both men and women were displaced from their traditional work by industrialisation. Many women (possibly some men too) turned to prostitution to feed themselves and their families. The Scottish statistician Patrick Colquhoun estimated in 1806 that 1 in 20 women in London were involved.**

The fortnight leading up to the assembly seemed more like two months than two weeks to the colonel. He'd picked out several items of furniture to send down to the cottage and then, worried the gesture might be misconstrued now that the Granthams were in residence, decided not to send them. Having heard Miss Grantham decline Mr Ebersley's attempt to secure her hand for a set at the ball, he hesitated to put himself to the same test, assuring himself it would be better to ask her to dance spontaneously on the night. Not wishing to importune her by visiting too often, he didn't go to the cottage at all. He tried to keep himself busy with his steward, hunting his covets and sending some of the game to the cottage by proxy.

But whenever he walked out in the fields on business or leisure, his eyes always strayed to the cottage, and once when he saw that high-perch phaeton parked outside with Mrs Jessup's carriage, he ground his teeth.

On the day of the assembly, he'd sent a note to the cottage, offering the Granthams a lift in his carriage; but when it was politely declined, he convinced himself they were likely being conveyed by Mrs Jessup. The colonel decided to take his gig instead of his carriage, which would allow him to arrive at the ball not smelling of horse and transport the Miss Granthams home, if need be; but also save his servants the trouble of getting out the carriage. Besides, he would feel ridiculous arriving alone in such a grand vehicle. If only he could have handed Miss Grantham out of that vehicle, he would have felt like a prince.

He spent over an hour getting ready: having the servants fill the rarely-used copper tub, allowing his first footman to shave his sideburns down to fine points, and taking the trouble of tying one of his few cravats. He usually wore a plain black stock. Taking one last look at himself in the mirror, the colonel decided that, despite his thirty-five years, he had scrubbed up pretty well and could give Mr High-Perch Phaeton a run for his money. He was determined he would have his dance with Miss Ruth Grantham if he had to jostle that Shropshire jack-a-napes out of the way.

It was then that his eye fell upon the ring on his left hand, a ring he had worn for almost twenty years. He twisted it on his finger, watching the light glint from the glass over the lock of Eliza's black hair. With a sigh, he drew it off slowly and placed it on his dressing cabinet. Underneath, his skin was pale and the muscle of his finger slightly wasted. Taking a deep breath, he drew on his gloves.

As he descended the front steps of the manor house, his groom was waiting with his gig. The colonel bid him a polite good evening, mounted into the carriage and wended his way to the ball.

He had timed his arrival at the assembly for when the first set was in progress as he knew Miss Grantham was already engaged for that set, based on her reply to Mr Ebersley. He sat down near Mrs Jessup, who was watching the progress of her nieces fondly, while tapping her fan in time to the music. She immediately launched into one of her jovial conversations in which he participated by nodding his head occasionally in agreement while glancing occasionally with some awe at the three-strands of pearls that bobbed up and down on her double chin as she spoke.

His attempts to spot Ruth as the dancers progressed were in vain, and finally he ventured: "I have not yet seen the Misses Grantham. Did they not come with you?"

"Why, no," replied Mrs Jessup, arresting her fan. "I thought they were coming with you."

The colonel was quite perturbed but determined not to show it. It had not escaped his notice that Mr Ebersley had not yet arrived, and his anger began to mount that his rival should have stolen a march on him by conveying the Miss Granthams to the ball. When the set ended he resigned himself to being polite, asking Miss Sophia Bletchley if she had a set free, and then engaging her sister for the one after.

But when the three Shropshire gentleman arrived during the second set with no sign of Miss Grantham, the colonel's anger quickly consumed itself in a fever of a trepidation. Perhaps she was ill? All the worry that had gnawed at him over the years during his long search for Eliza and its sad end, transferred itself immediately to Miss Grantham. Perhaps her near episode of fainting when he'd helped her down from Mr Ebersley's carriage was indicative of a serious chronic illness; or perhaps it had been the beginning of an infection? It took all his self-control to get through the third set with Miss Letitia before claiming a headache to Mrs Jessup and taking himself off.

For her part, Mrs Jessup was a little puzzled over the failure of the Miss Granthams to turn up, particularly after she had laid information with Miss Becky, highlighting the colonel's faithfulness and availability. She also thought she had done a wonderful job of winding the colonel up by sending Miss Grantham back to Clavering in Mr Ebersley's smart phaeton. Nonetheless, she had a little difficulty suppressing a smile when the colonel complained of a headache and took himself off after the third set. Her schemes, she thought, were going along very nicely.

If Miss Grantham's joy ride with Mr Ebersley had made her queasy, it was just as well she did not accompany the colonel home from the ball on that occasion; for he drove like a devil, as he had learned to do in India, feathering the edge of every corner, until he arrived at the cottage. Jumping down from the gig before it had barely rolled to a halt, he ran to the cottage and raised his hand to knock on the door before thinking better of it.

Regardless of the circumstances, imposing on two women well after sunset was questionable. He paced up and down for several minutes, irresolute; then took several strides back from the cottage and scanned the windows above. If Miss Grantham was ill, there should be a light in the sick room. Indeed, he could see the dim light of a candle in the window framed by honeysuckle, but was that Miss Grantham's chamber or Miss Becky's? Finally, he decided it didn't matter. If Ruth was ill, she may need a doctor, and it would be better to disturb Miss Becky now rather than wait 'til morning when it might be too late.

With his heart pounding in his chest, the colonel knocked decisively on the door.

After what seemed an eternity, the light receded from the window and he heard the creak of one of the boards in the stairs. In his mind, he rehearsed his speech to Miss Becky: Could he help in any way? Perhaps summon the nearest physician from Ketterley?

He heard the bolt drawn, and there, holding a candle, stood not Miss Becky, but Miss Grantham, with her black her in a plait that reached all the way to her navel. His heart actually stopped momentarily in his chest.

"Colonel Brandon!" said Ruth. "Is there a problem?"

His tongue seemed to have cleaved to the top of his mouth. After taking in the length of Miss Grantham's plait and determining that she must be able to actually sit on her hair when it was unbound, he switched his attention to her attire. At first, he had thought she was wearing only a chemise, which caused embarrassing stirrings in his nether regions. Then he discerned that she was actually wearing a pale brocade dressing gown. It looked very alluring and very expensive. Again, this struck him as odd.

"Colonel, are you all right?" Ruth asked; and when he did not immediately answer, she peered around him, thinking perhaps the manor was on fire. It seemed fine.

"Miss Grantham," he finally managed. "You are not ill?"

"No, Colonel."

"I expected you to be at the ball. I was worried that perhaps there had been an accident or that..."

His voice dwindled off. He felt decidedly foolish.

"I beg your pardon," he managed.

Ruth sighed. "Thank you for your concern, Colonel. Perhaps I should beg your pardon. I never had any intention of going to the ball, but I asked Becky not to advertise the fact because I feared Mrs Jessup might try to persuade me."

"No intention?" repeated the colonel stupidly, and then before he could stop himself: "Why ever not?"

"I don't dance, Colonel," replied Ruth, calmly.

"Don't dance?" echoed the colonel again, and would have gone on to ask her to explain herself before he became suddenly aware of all the impropriety of his actions. He had woken this lady up in the middle of the night, forcing her to come to the door in her night gear; and was now interrogating her on her failure to arrive at a ball, which she had every right to decline attending. Besides, it was none of his business.

The moonlight hid his blushes.

"Please accept my apologies, Miss Grantham. My concern for your welfare overrode my sense of propriety. I will not disturb you any longer, goodnight."

With a deep bow, he retreated to his gig. His trusty horse, Ned, who had waiting patiently without restraint for his master to return, gave a snort of satisfaction that they were to be on their way.

Just as he was about to climb in, he heard her call softly behind him, "Goodnight, Colonel" before she closed the door.

All the way home he cursed his foolish actions. What must Miss Grantham think of him?

But by the time he had arrived at the manor, his mind had taken more a pleasant path and he was thinking of that beautiful dark plait and the limpid quality of those cool grey eyes in the moonlight. Another man might have been angry that he had wasted so much time and energy getting ready for the ball for no reason. The colonel did not attend regularly, only appearing occasionally to appease Mrs Jessup. As he divested himself of his finery, he merely heard Miss Grantham say softly, "Goodnight, Colonel" over and over in his head.

When he lay his head on his pillow and closed his eyes, he heard her voice again, but this time it said, "Goodnight, Theodore."

Already asleep, his lips curled into a small smile.


	12. Ruth: Ch 7

**Thanks for the advice regarding where to post this story. Here is my thinking: If I start a new story, my followers get alerted. If I add a new chapter to an existing story, followers of that particular story get alerted. I don't have any control over this. So it makes sense to keep Via Luton story lines within Via Luton because Via Luton fans get alerted. Granted it is a little clumsy to have a story start at chapter 6, I'm just trying to make the best use of the existing system.**

**Love your avatar, _IrishJessie_. Yes, Colonel Brandon is the character in _Sense and Sensibility_. I always thought Jane Austen gave him the rough end of the pineapple with Marian's reluctant love. Jane Austen didn't give the colonel a Christian name. He was called Christopher in the 1995 film version but I have called him Theodore.**

Ruth had trouble getting to sleep after the colonel left. In fact she had been having trouble getting to sleep before he arrived and had resorted to reading a novel Mrs Jessup had loaned her by candlelight.

Although Ruth didn't dance, she did have some very fine evening gowns. These remained packed in her trunk with lavender, for it was likely she would never use them. But before she'd gone to bed, she'd given in to the temptation to try one of them on, and to imagine for a moment that she was at the ball.

For Ruth had never been to a ball. Her father, a rector, had always disapproved of dancing. In fact, during his university days leading up to his ordination, the Reverend Percival Rattray had developed the very strictest notions of the behaviour expected of a minister of the Anglican faith, which had only been tempered by his meeting and falling in love with Miss Margaret Westbury shortly after he left Oxford. Upon acquiring a modest living in Yorkshire, the couple had moved to the North Riding where Ruth's mother had borne four daughters before dying shortly after the birth of their youngest, Naomi.

As a twelve-year old, Ruth's last memories of her mother were of a lady who was the social backbone of her parish - visiting the sick, arranging flowers in the church and acting as one of the patronesses of the local assemblies. She remembered thinking how beautiful her mother looked in her ball gown when she attended the local assemblies, always appearing like a queen to kiss her daughters good night before she left for the evening. The Reverend Rattray could not approve of assemblies; staying at home to bear his daughters company along with their governess, Miss Becky; but nor could he disapprove of anything his beloved wife did.

Things had been much harder for the family after Ruth's mother died. The rector tended to worry a lot, and while Margaret Rattray had been there to assure him everything would be all right, it generally had been. After her death, the income from the parish had not seemed to stretch as far as it had before. Two years after his wife's passing, the rector had reluctantly concluded he could no longer afford the services of a governess, and his daughters had bid a tearful goodbye to Miss Becky. Thus at the age of fifteen, Ruth had emerged from the schoolroom only to be put in charge of it.

After Becky had departed, Ruth had also taken on many of her mother's duties: visiting the sick, looking after her younger sisters, and arranging flowers in the church. But putting on beautiful gowns and attending the local assemblies were not among those duties. She could only look on wistfully as her friend in the village, Miss Anne Dunstable, had modelled the ensembles she intended to wear at the balls and talked excitedly afterwards of torn flounces, energetic reels, champagne punch and Chantilly creams.

Thus Ruth had put on one of her beautiful gowns lying neglected in her trunk to imagine she was dancing at a ball. But when she had looked in the mirror, she saw not herself, but her mother. All her fond memories of her most beloved parent had flooded back. Ruth had promptly removed the gown, carefully rolled it up with the lavender and put it back in her trunk. But putting her memories away had not been as easy, and she had turned to the novel for distraction.

In the morning she woke at the usual time by habit, but feeling bleary, she decided to take an early morning walk on the dales to enliven her. As she'd already found a lovely spot to sit by the beck, she picked up the psalter she'd purchased in London to read on Sundays, hoping to resolve herself better to her situation. Bidding Becky good morning, Ruth tied on her bonnet, wrapped her old cloak round her, and departed.

* * *

The colonel slept well, but dreamed vividly all night. These dreams were mostly a weird mélange of his experiences as a youth in England and in the militia in India. His last dream before waking was particularly memorable. He was stalking down a darkened hall that seemed to stretch into the distance, carrying his flintlock musket, when Ruth appeared in front of him. She was walking gracefully away from him in a costume that resembled her pale brocade dressing gown but was styled more like an Indian salwar chemise. Her long dark plait tumbled down her back. With more purpose, he picked up his pace to follow her, and was encouraged when she turned briefly to smile at him, acknowledging his presence. In a blink, she disappeared, and he perceived he had neared the end of the hallway where a golden goddess with many arms sat cross-legged in a niche. Looking first right and then left, he saw the new corridor stretched off dimly in both directions, with no doors apparent, and no sign of Ruth. With a lurch of surprise, he realised he was no longer holding his gun. He woke.

Getting up, the colonel could tell that he'd woken at his usual time, regardless off his late night excursions. He shaved quickly with the cold water in the jug on his washstand, then pulled on his clothes and headed downstairs. Stopping briefly in the gunroom to retrieve his double-barrelled scatter gun, he walked out to the fields hoping to bag a couple of partridges. His dog, Jessie, who slept in an alcove near the gunroom, jumped up from her bed and quickly fell in at his heels.

He was in luck; downing a pair of birds, one from each barrel, from the first covey he disturbed. Jessie had retrieved the first before he was halfway to the spot where they'd fallen. Satisfied with his haul, he wondered if he should take one of the birds to the cottage himself, or send it with Harry the Footman. He set off towards the dale, determined to ponder it as he walked a mile or two.

After initially deciding another apology for his intrusion last night was in order, the colonel realised that this might be construed as further annoyance. His dog distracted him by setting off playfully after a rabbit, but after she'd given it a good run, Jessie gave up and circled back round to him after the rabbit reached its burrow. The sun was just rising above the clouds on the horizon when the colonel reached the top of the spur and saw a lithe figure in a black cloak and bonnet walking ahead of him. He immediately thought of Ruth and started down the slope towards her before reminding himself it might be Belinda. But as he got closer, the quality of the cloak and the bonnet convinced the colonel that his original surmise had been correct.

Approaching, he hailed her.

"Colonel Brandon!" she said, after stopping and turning in his direction.

"Miss Grantham! You are out early! Forgive me, again, for disturbing you last night."

"Do not worry, Colonel. Perhaps I erred in being so secretive, but you know my reasons."

It was then he noticed she was carrying a psalter in her hands. While he had seen her at church every Sunday since her arrival, he had not previously noted any particular adherence to religion in his visits to the cottage.

"I must say I find your reasons very unusual," he ventured. "I have never before met a lady who did not dance. Are you so set against frivolity?" he said, directing his gaze to the book in her hand.

"My father was a rector, Colonel," Ruth replied.

"Did he object to dancing? I have heard of some clergymen who do, but they must be in the minority."

"Yes, he did object to dancing," replied Ruth, feeling a little uncomfortable using the past tense - she knew not if her father was dead or alive. "As to being in the minority, I cannot say. I am not acquainted with many clergymen."

"And do you still adhere to your father's principles?"

"I have little choice, Colonel. I cannot dance."

That stopped the colonel in his tracks. "Cannot dance?" he echoed weakly.

"No, I never learnt. Nor can I play cards."

"And you have no wish to do either of these things?" he asked incredulously.

"I find I am perfectly happy with my needlework and my reading," said Ruth, turning to walk away from him, not liking the direction of the conversation.

But before she could bid him goodbye the colonel had taken several strides to catch up with her.

"I must say that I am not enamoured of cards or dancing and could give them up any day of the week," he declared.

Ruth sighed. She had spent the morning ruing her decision not to style herself as a widow as Becky had suggested. At least, that way she could have claimed an unswerving devotion to her fictional dead husband as protection. The colonel was looking at her so earnestly now that it made her feel ill thinking she that he might suffer any more heartache than he had already experienced in his life.

They were almost at the beck.

"Colonel, could I tell you a story of a silly girl I once knew?"

He was puzzled, but indicated his willingness.

"Once upon a time there was a very silly young girl who became engaged to a much older man and, frightened by the prospect of marrying him, she ran off in the middle of the night to London. She tried to find genteel work there but was unsuccessful. Instead she ended up in an establishment off Bond Street that opened to the public after five in the evening. After she'd worked there for several years, a friend became acquainted with her history and taking pity on her, helped her return to her native shire."

She turned back to see the effect of her story on the colonel and saw that he'd become rather pale.

"I understand," he whispered.

"I hope," said Ruth, unnerved by his seeming overreaction and fighting the lump that had suddenly come into her throat; "that you will not shun me by association. I'm sure she is very sorry."

"Of course not," said the colonel.

"Good day, sir," Ruth said, and turning, she walked briskly back in the direction of the cottage, leaving the colonel rooted to the ground.


	13. Ruth: Ch 8

**Thanks for your story, _Rachel_. Everyone deserves a second chance.**

The colonel was not sure how long he had stood there near the beck afterwards. Jessie lay down patiently at his feet as he lost himself in reminiscences of his painful reunion with his dear Eliza.

Arriving back in London on his third furlough from India, he'd gone to a sponging house in search of Old Matthew, a servant who had worked on his father's estate since before the colonel's birth. His father had turned the servant off without a pension after the old man had fallen down the backstairs and done permanent injury to his knee. Old Matthew was overjoyed to hear that the colonel had done so well in India with prize money and had broken down in tears when the colonel had offered him a pension. The servant was only glad that he could give something in return to young Master Theodore, as he referred to the colonel. Matthew knew Master Theodore had been looking for Miss Eliza for years, after she ran off from the estate.

After Matthew explained the identity of the lady he had discovered living on the third floor of the house soon after seeking refuge there himself, the colonel's heart had leapt with joy. Finally, he had found Eliza. He had followed Old Matthew with impatience as they made their way slowly up the rickety stairs to her room on one of the cheaper upper floors. Arriving on the landing, he'd knocked with trepidation. When a little girl had answered the door, Matthew had patted him on the shoulder and departed.

What the colonel found behind that door had made his stomach feel like he'd fallen from a thousand-foot drop. His dear Eliza was bedridden and it was hard to recognize his love in the aged shell that occupied the bed. He had clasped her hand and buried his face in the blankets at her side to hide his tears.

After composing himself, and expressing his joy in seeing her again, Eliza haltingly told him her history. She had been very unhappy after marrying his brother. Francis had been cold and cruel to her, and once she was with child, he'd gone off to London, leaving her alone with his father. But the babe had been stillborn at five months and she dreaded Francis' return. Soon after, she had met a man while she was shopping in the High Street who was part of a travelling actors troupe, and after a few clandestine meetings, she'd departed with them when they moved onto the next town. But the affair had not lasted, and she had lived hand-to-mouth with a series of lovers until she had fallen sick. Finally, she'd given up and contacted her guardian, begging his mercy, only to discover that Francis had instituted divorce proceedings. Penniless and unable to buy medicine, she'd been taken into some lodgings on the expectation of that part of her inheritance that Francis would be required to return to her upon granting of the divorce. The colonel recognised the address Eliza mentioned as a house he had previously visited after obtaining information from her lawyers, only to find she had moved on. Unable to afford her previous rooms with the small amount of money left to her once the divorce was finalised, Eliza had removed to her current lodgings.

The colonel had trouble keeping his composure through this heart-rending story and tearfully asked her why she had not written to him. Then Eliza had broken down, telling him she was so ashamed that she had broken their trust by giving in to the pressure from the colonel's father; but as he was also her guardian, there had seemed no escape from marriage to Francis. She had thought herself sunk beyond redemption by her subsequent actions.

The colonel had immediately gone out to fetch a physician and subsequently hired two servants to wait on Eliza. He would have removed her to a more salubrious location, but she had forestalled him; saying she wasn't quite feeling well enough today, but might be able to manage it on the morrow. Two weeks later, she had died.

After raking over these painful memories, the colonel looked at his dog who thumped her tail as she stared back up at him. Heaving a sigh, he tossed his game bag over his shoulder and walked back to the manor.

Returning to the gun room, he did not bother to place his gun on the rack. Instead, he collapsed onto the chair there, setting the gun down on the table beside him and staring into space.

It all seemed so futile. Why did he bother? He wasn't living. He was existing, alone, in this big house. But when he lay his hand despondently on the scattergun, Jess came up and rested her jaw on his knee, looking at him intently, as if she knew his thoughts.

Sighing, he got up, wiped the gun down, and replaced it on the rack before calling his housekeeper to surrender the game bag.

All day he wandered round the house, reliving his happier dreams of Eliza: of an alternate reality he had constructed in India where they lived blissfully together. But these fantasies were continually jolted back to the painful reality that Eliza was gone.

He'd eaten dinner alone, then lain in his bed for several hours staring at the canopy, before getting up and going to the library to read poetry, hoping to drag himself from his maudlin mood.

When he woke in the morning light, the truth had finally dawned on him. Sitting up in the wing chair, he realised that after settling in Yorkshire, his melancholy following Eliza's death had gradually receded 'til he had reached a state where he had thought himself tolerably happy. The estate he leased was a good one, and he kept himself occupied with its management. Despite Mrs Jessup's efforts, he had not been interested in marrying. After all, not everyone married, did they? He had written his will. Eliza's little daughter would be his heir, regardless of her paternity. Something of his lovely Eliza lived on in the little girl.

Then Miss Grantham had arrived and the scales had fallen from his eyes. The colonel realised he had previously only been existing. His will to live and be happy had been rekindled by his love for Ruth Grantham. Possibly that was why her rejection of him had sent him spiralling into the depths of despair. But in reliving those painful memories, he could not help but be struck by the parallel in their stories: women who had fled the security of their homes to escape loveless marriages. He wondered briefly if he was drawn to tragic women before banishing such useless thoughts, replacing them by anger with himself. He was not a love-struck youth ruled by his father anymore, and he was determined to be more effective in securing his own happiness.

The colonel dressed himself quickly and let himself out the front door; but Jessie, hearing the door slam, was not to be cheated of her early morning run. She sped out through the kitchens and came flying round the corner of the house to join him halfway to the cottage.

Belinda answered the door and would have admitted him, but the colonel stood his ground and asked calmly for Miss Grantham. Jessie retreated to lie under a nearby blackberry bush.

Ruth came to the door in an apron. He could see there was trepidation in her eyes and it occurred to him that she thought he might be there to evict her.

Unable to see her suffer for a second he blurted, "Miss Grantham, it doesn't matter."

"Colonel?" she asked, somewhat confused.

"Your friend... It doesn't matter what her past has been. Would you care to take a morning walk?"


End file.
